


Var Lath

by Lafaiette



Series: Var Lath Vir Suledin [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Post Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Lavellan asks him his name and he tells her, unable to look away from her, unable to move his eyes from the woman that holds the Dread Wolf’s heart in her hands and only wants to save him. </p><p>One of Solas' agents successfully infiltrates the disbanded Inquisition and sees how profound and strong the love between his lord and the Inquisitor is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by those headcanons about Solas' agents rooting for him and Lavellan. It definitely happened in Skyhold and it definitely happens post Trespasser.

It is late when Sister Nightingale sees him in the small room she calls her office.

He knows he needs to be careful, to choose and pick his words wisely, lest she sees through him and immediately throws him out of this organization that is the Inquisition and at the same time isn’t anymore.

Lord Fen’Harel gave him precise instructions: he must learn what they know and plan, try to discover who their new allies are, ruin their work only if strictly necessary, and do what they say so that they don’t become wary of him and recognize him.

He heard many things about Sister Leliana - now Divine Victoria - and they are all true. Her voice is kind, her tone collected, as she speaks and asks him innocent questions about his family, his past jobs, his reasons to be here. But her eyes are cold, sharp like daggers, and they never move from his face.

Despite his training, despite his experience, despite the strength of his faith for what he is fighting for, he is scared.

He gives her the answers and backstory he has meticulously prepared beforehand: he lost his family due to the Breach, he worked as a runner and messenger and still has good legs, he is somewhat decent with a sword.

“Why do you wish to help us? The Inquisition is disbanded. I cannot guarantee you a good pay as we are now.”

“The Inquisition did many good things for Thedas and I admire that.” It’s true and even Lord Fen’Harel does. He always speaks of the Inquisition with respect and fondness.

He always speaks of the Inquisitor with a soft, melancholic light in his eyes.

“I didn’t join before and I regret it, so I want to help now. I am not a warrior nor a tactician, but if I can do something, even a small something, then I’ll be happy.”

“The one we face now is different from Corypheus.” Sister Leliana insists, narrowing her eyes. “In fact, he may be even more dangerous than him, if we don’t succeed in changing his mind.”

So they don’t want to eliminate Lord Fen’Harel? He is not sure whether he knows this or not, but it’s an important detail, so he is going to store it in his mind as vital information, the first he gathered since he stepped into this base.

“You are not Dalish, are you?” the Divine continues and he shakes his head.

“I heard about the Dread Wolf, though, Your Holiness. I am familiar with the stories.”

“If you are here, it means you believe what the Inquisitor says.”

He shrugs uncomfortably on the hard chair, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t understand much about these things, Most Holy.” he lies, hands on his lap, humble and candid. “But if the end of the world is coming again, then I want to help this time.”

Sister Nightingale ponders his words, fingers tapping against her mouth, gaze lost into the distance, into the dark sky without clouds visible from the small window in the room.

“Very well.” she says at last and the corners of her mouth are raised. Or maybe it’s just the light. “We will keep an eye on you, like we do with all the new elven agents. It is nothing personal, but we need to take all the necessary precautions.”

“I understand.” he says with a respectful bow of his head and he really does.

 

\- - - -

 

The organization is small - a speck of dust compared to the mighty Inquisition of months ago -, but the people in it work hard as if nothing has changed and there are so many missions, objectives, and things to discover, find, and read that at first he doesn’t even have time to write his reports for Lord Fen’Harel.

When he finally can hide in a corner and write down all the things he has seen and found, a week has passed. He sends the message just like Lord Fen’Harel has taught him and the others - through another agent, in his case an old elf who brings food supplies to the base weekly, who will give it in turn to another trusted friend and so on, until it finally reaches the Wolf.

It’s a long, slow, and cautious way to send a message, but he can’t expect his boss to visit him in dreams to hear how things are going. The Wolf has too many things to do, too many places to check and control, too many thoughts swirl in his mind. Everyone can see how heavy his duty is and how much he hurts when the Inquisitor is mentioned. The last thing he needs is to check on each of his agents in their sleep.

So the new messenger discreetly passes his coded message to his companion and goes to take care of the new task Sister Nightingale has given him.

He still hasn’t seen the Inquisitor.

He always hears her mentioned, everyone talks about her, everyone pronounces her name - she is Lady Lavellan now and she is a secret to him.

One of his friends who served in the Inquisition told him that she saw her multiple times while working at Skyhold. She was one of the maidens there, so she often cleaned the laundry or brought food up in the Inquisitor’s rooms.

“She is pretty and kind.” she told him with a smile. Then she looked around, not wanting to be heard by the Wolf, and whispered: “She and Lord Fen’Harel looked very happy together. He always smiled when she was with him. I had never seen him like that before.”

Now, part of him wants to see the woman who stole the Dread Wolf’s heart, who makes him doubt and hesitate, who wants to change his mind and not kill him even if he is planning the complete revolution of the current world.

He thinks about his friend’s words, her wistful and romantic sighs as she recalled the scenes she had seen in the fortress, and he feels a bit envious. He never saw his boss being a doofus in love. He never saw Lord Fen’Harel eating frilly cakes with Lady Lavellan on his lap. He never saw them giggling and kissing in the rotunda before she had to go the War Room.

He only saw his sorrowful face as he looked out of the window in his room, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders slumped by responsibility and duty. He only heard the polite and serious tone of his voice, the slight crack in it when he asked him to protect the Inquisitor if necessary. He only saw his pain, regret, and nostalgia in his steel blue eyes.

He wonders if Lady Lavellan’s eyes look the same.

 

\- - - -

 

Two days after his message has been delivered, Lord Fen’Harel himself visits him in his dreams.

He lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream when he senses his powerful presence behind his back during an innocuous and peaceful dream.

“My apologies. I did not mean to frighten you.” the Wolf says without sounding sorry at all. He is more like concerned, in a great hurry even. He waits a beat, then: “You have not sent word, my friend.”

“I…” the agent stammers, hoping the heartattack he almost had won’t kill him in the waking world. “I did, my lord! Just two days ago! I gave it to the old man that brings milk and food to the base, as you instructed.”

Fen’Harel frowns and his jaw tightens. As usual, his hands are behind his back and he looks stiff, elegant, almost regal, but also cold and distant.

The agent is pretty sure he was way more relaxed than this when he was in the Inquisition. His friend told him so too.

“Why did you sent the message so late? Did something happen?” Fen’Harel quirks one eyebrow. “I also feared you had already been discovered. Sister Leliana is a formidable spymaster, but…”

“Oh, she really is! That’s why it took me so long, sir. I needed to be absolutely sure she or her agents couldn’t see me or read what I was writing. Also…” he makes an embarrassed sound, rubbing his neck. “Er… we had much to do.”

“Oh?” now both Fen’Harel’s eyebrows rise. “Did you find something?”

“I know that they are looking for people outside of Ferelden and Orlais. Tevinter, I heard. The Inquisitor’s magister friend, Dorian Pavus, has something to do with it, but I still don’t know the details.”

Fen’Harel’s expression changes immediately as the Inquisitor is mentioned. His gaze becomes tender, almost hopeful, as he asks in a soft, small voice: “How is she?”

The agent can’t help but stare at that quick, surprising change, but he manages to answer without missing a beat: “I… I think she’s fine, sir. Never heard anything bad. I’ve not seen her yet, though, she rarely leaves her room.”

The Wolf looks down and the agent stands there awkwardly, waiting for his next question. He is embarrassed, but also curious, and he would like to know more about the mysterious woman that changed Thedas and his lord so much.

He doesn’t dare ask, though, so he stays quiet until Fen’Harel raises his head, his face a polite and cold mask again, and says: “I won’t bother your sleep any longer. I suppose all the information I need to know are in your letter.”

“Yes, my lord! I have nothing new to report at the moment.” he blinks and corrects himself: “There is only… one thing.”

Fen’Harel frowns again and tired lines form under his eyes and on his forehead. It’s a disheartening sight.

“The Inquisition. Well, this organization which is not the Inquisition. They are not trying to kill you, my lord. Lady Lavellan is trying to find a way to change your mind.” he pronounces the words as if they are a great secret, something private that doesn’t concern him, but it’s a piece of information nonetheless and he must report it.

Apparently Fen’Harel knew about this, because he smiles - a little, sad thing that barely moves his lips - and nods.

“Always so full of hope.” he whispers and even if his smile is not that much, his tone is sweet, loving, and his eyes are bright.

There is hope in them, the agent notices, hope and love, and he feels embarrassed again, but also more intrigued than ever. He misses his friend and the long talks they used to have about this relationship, this love that made their lord laugh, joke, and dance.

“Is there anything else I can do, my lord?” he asks and he isn’t surprised when the Wolf tells him to find a way to see Lady Lavellan. He doesn’t specify the reason, only that he must see her, and the agent politely reassures him that he will do his best to approach her and the secrets she kept in her room and desk.

But he knows that’s not the real reason his lord wants him to see her.

He wakes up slowly, without hurry, his head light. He doesn’t even remember what he was dreaming before Lord Fen’Harel’s arrival.

Then the other members of the organization - his new companions, humans, elves, and dwarves that don’t suspect who he really is - start to get up as well and some of them greet him, wish him a good morning, or ask him to join them for breakfast.

He wonders if his lord felt so wretched and false during his early days in the old Inquisition too.

 

\- - - -

 

He finally meets Lady Lavellan a few days later.

He has some letters and messages to deliver to Sister Nightingale - most are from the Chantry, but the rest are from various parts of Thedas and he accurately memorizes the names for his report.

He knocks at the door of the Divine’s room, too engrossed in reading those names for the millionth time to pay attention to the voices coming from inside.

“Come in!” the woman says and he opens the door, remembering to look away from the letters so that he doesn’t look suspicious or too curious for his own good.

He freezes on the doorstep.

There is another woman in the room - elven, her frame deceptively lithe and frail. She is young - _very_ young, he thinks, and he can’t help but compare her years to his lord’s infinitely older age.

He feels embarrassed and awkward again.

Then his gaze falls on her stump: she doesn’t hide it and her simple, comfortable clothes don’t remind him of the leader of an organization, but of a wanderer instead.

There is grace and beauty in her - his friend was right, she is beautiful -, but also a great sadness, the same that he always sees in his lord.

Yes, her eyes look like his. But there is something different in them, a determination that Lord Fen’Harel lacks, a fire that drives her forward and reassures those who look at her.

She smiles at him - a small, but kind smile - and even if she is clearly tired and overwhelmed by too many things to do, she still finds the time and strength to speak to him.

“You are new.” she says and he babbles an unintelligible answer, taken aback. Even if this organization is small and almost empty compared to the old Inquisition, there is still a good number of people working in it and he can’t believe she remembers every single one. Maybe Sister Nightingale talked about him? If she did, why? Maybe she…

“I never saw you before.” Lady Lavellan continues and his surprise increases. “I met the new scouts Leliana found, but you are a new face.”

“He’s one of the new messengers.” the Divine explains and she turns to him with a smirk. “He’s quite good at his job. Fast and reliable.”

“Really?” Lady Lavellan chuckles, the sound frail like glass, but just as clear. “Thank you for joining us. We need people like you.”

His mouth goes dry.

“T-Thank you, my lady.” he stammers. His gaze lingers on her pale cheeks. He knows she had vallaslin once. His friend told him that Lady Lavellan made Lord Fen’Harel remove them, the night they broke up. She saw her come back to Skyhold alone and crying, her face bare.

His friend was very sad that day.

Lady Lavellan asks him his name and he tells her, unable to look away from her, unable to move his eyes from the woman that holds the Dread Wolf’s heart in her hands and only wants to save him.

His friend told him that she saw them practice for the Ball at Halamshiral and he tries to imagine this small girl in the strong arms of his lord as they swirl in the rotunda, their laughter and giggles as they joke and kiss.

It’s hard to do, because his lord never smiles now, let alone laugh, but he feels he can picture him doing that with this young woman. There is something in her that tells him she really can change Lord Fen’Harel’s heart and he is nearly scared, completely intimidated.

“Are those for me?” Lady Nightingale asks, distracting him from his thoughts; he hands her the missives, then waits, all tense and anxious, for his next task.

“You may go for now.” the Divine says and he bows his head, giving one last glance to Lady Lavellan before leaving the room. She nods at him, that same small, kind smile from before on her lips, and he feels sad, as if something good is missing, as if something bad happened, but it shouldn’t have happened.

He regrets the current situation between this woman and the man he serves, he feels sorry for them, but he doesn’t clearly know why. He is only supposed to follow Lord Fen’Harel’s orders, to help him restore the world of the Elves as it was, not feel sorry for his love life.

And yet, as he closes the door behind himself and steals one last look, he sees something he didn’t see before.

A familiar jawbone pendant hangs from Lady Lavellan’s neck and rests on her chest; she touches it with her right hand as she speaks with Leliana, her fingers delicately caressing the teeth and the worn leather strings.

There is longing, nostalgia, and a wish for comfort in her touch and he finally understands and shares the sadness his friend felt years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chaptered fic that is probably going to be long. I REGRET NOTHING.


	2. Chapter 2

He sends another report to Fen’Harel, describing in great detail his meeting with Lady Lavellan.

A few nights later, the Wolf visits him.

He looks different: he is anxious, impatient, like he has never seen him before. He waits for him in a bare, overly simple dream, hands at his sides, fingers twitching. He is still in control, but his eyes burns, his whole body gives off an aura of trepidation.

“I received your message.”

It’s the first thing he says and the agent swallows, already sure of what he wants to know.

Fen’Harel waits one second, then continues, his voice admirably even and too much detached. He is trying too hard to appear uninterested.

“Did you meet her again after that day?”

“Yes.” the agent nods and inwardly smiles when Fen’Harel’s eyes lightens up and his body relaxes. The Wolf lets out a small, relieved sigh and asks softly, now letting his walls come down, even if just a little: “Is she better now? In your message you said she looked tired.”

 _‘Just like you do.’_ the agent would like to say, but he is not insane and knows better than cross that line. Fen’Harel is kind and amicable, but he does not like to be disrespected and his personal matters - _especially the Inquisitor_ \- to be topic of discussion.

So the agent says, trying to sound as tactful as possible: “She still does, sir. I know for sure that she works a lot. She spends most of her time in her room or outside. Sometimes she can be seen discussing things with Sister Nightingale or Lady Cassandra.”

“Did you talk with her again? What did she say?”

The agent is not really sure what Fen’Harel wants to know now; he is just a messenger in this new ‘Inquisition’ and even if he can read the name of the addressees or the destinations on the letters he carries, it’s still difficult to learn more about the Inquisitor’s plan. He is not one of Leliana’s agents and the Divine only says what she wants and what it’s necessary around those she doesn’t fully trust.

“She… she hasn’t offered me many hints about their work yet, sir.” he says slowly. “I met her in Sister Leliana’s studio again. She greeted me and told me to bring a letter to Kirkwall down to the village, so that the courier there could take it.”

“Kirkwall?”

“Yes. For the Viscount, Varric Tethras.”

A small smile wrinkles Fen’Harel lips. It’s weak, though, and it doesn’t last much. It’s different from the ones he always shows when the main topic is Lady Lavellan only, but it contains a similar sadness and nostalgia.

The agent knows he was friend with this dwarf too. His friend who worked at Skyhold said that she saw them talking in front of the hearth in the main hall many times, that the dwarf often asked Fen’Harel for advice on his books, that the Wolf asked him many questions about the dwarven society in return.

“Master Tethras even had a nickname for him.” his friend told him, but time has passed and the agent can no longer recall it.

“As I said in my report, I have no new information about Dorian Pavus. I am sure he is helping the Inquisitor find new allies in Tevinter, but I still don’t know who he found or if he found them at all.”

“What about the Inquisitor? Can you tell me more?” Fen’Harel insists, frowning. He has been so quick to bring the focus back on her that the agent blinks, momentarily surprised, then coughs.

He is embarrassed again, but also a little pleased and he has no idea why.

He decides to dare, to thread these dangerous waters, and so he replies, trying to sound very perplexed: “Sir, I wrote everything I saw and heard in my report. She only greeted me, gave me the letter, and thanked me, then I had to go away. She looked tired, but not ill.”

He plays distractedly with his hands and raises one eyebrow, his smile candid, and adds: “Is there something in particular you would like me to look for, sir?”

Amusement and thrill broaden his smile, because Fen’Harel suddenly looks like he has been _busted_ and also terribly _bashful_. He stiffens, freckles showing through red cheeks; the agent recalls his friend’s words, her twinkling eyes as she told him how often the Inquisitor kissed those same freckles.

“I heard her say she was trying to count them all. And you know what Lord Fen’Harel did? He laughed - _laughed_ \- and pressed so many kisses on her face it’s a wonder his lips didn’t wear out!”

That same Lord Fen’Harel clears his throat, a frown so deep his forehead is all a big wrinkle, and says curtly: “Yes. Make sure that she is alright. Learn what she eats. Speaks with the maidens to-”

“There are no maidens, sir. The only servants around are for bringing food and cleaning the place, but the Inquisitor and the others take care of their necessities by themselves.”

Fen’Harel tightens his jaw; he is surprised, probably sorry and disappointed because Lady Lavellan isn’t helped and assisted as much as before; he has been reminded again that the Inquisition of months ago is no more, that things have changed, that things _are_ still going to change.

“I see.” he whispers, then narrows his eyes, the embarrassment from before still lingering in them, and continues: “Well, this does not change my request. Learn what you can about her habits, whether they are healthy or not, how much she sleeps, how often she eats.”

“I don’t think she sleeps, my lord.” the agent whispers, going back to his normal, humble, and discreet self. This is not the time for innocent jabs or jokes and the fear and doubt he feels since he saw the dark circles under Lavellan’s eyes are too real and strong to be hidden beneath smiles.

He doesn’t even know why he is worried. He shouldn’t be, because the Inquisitor can actually stop their plans from happening, and yet… and yet he can only share Lord Fen’Harel’s worry and he hopes for him and his mental wellbeing that she will start to get better soon.

The Wolf surprises him. He smiles again, sad, and looks down, as if he is about to tell him a big secret.

The agent tenses up. His lord’s secrets are never good. They are heavy, twisted knots that have been eating him from the inside for millennia, and when he lets them out the sadness in his eyes increases and everything around him slows down, as if the world itself stops to listen to the pain pouring out of him.

It’s not a beautiful sight and the agent wonders how the Inquisitor felt during her time in the Crossroads, as she learned about her lover’s past.

Lover. It’s still weird to think of Lord Fen’Harel as a lover. It’s even weirder to imagine him kissing Lady Lavellan and cupping her cheeks while kissing her nose, something so simple, sweet, and domestic and yet so hard to picture with the man standing in front of him.

The agent thinks of his friend, of her vivid, clear descriptions; she told him she saw them prepare hearth cakes in the kitchens at night. They played with the dough, laughed, kissed each other, and while the cakes sat on the warm hearth, they made love on the counter.

His friend ran away before she could see too much, but he remembers her red cheeks and dreaming eyes as she recalled the scene.

“They were so happy.”

They aren’t anymore and the agent feels like this is a great injustice, a great mistake in the big scheme of things. Something that must be fixed just like this whole Veil thing.

“She sleeps.” Fen’Harel says, raising his eyes, that sorrowful smile still there, still painful to watch. “I know for sure that she sleeps, believe me. But various details in dreams are not always true to their counterparts in the waking world, so I never saw the dark circles under her eyes that you mentioned.”

The agent realizes that the Wolf visits Lady Lavellan in her dreams and a feeling he can’t quite recognize gently enters his heart, like a warm, glowing flame.

Why is Fen’Harel so interested in all those details then? She probably appears to him in good health to avoid worrying him or maybe her dreaming mind instinctively makes her like that - the agent doesn’t understand much about this dreaming and Fade stuff -, but why does his lord need to know all that about her? Why can’t he directly ask her? Is he afraid to receive only white lies spoken to reassure him?

Afraid. Oh, that’s what it is.

The pain in Fen’Harel’s steel blue eyes is badly hidden and he is looking away, at the horizon this dream contains, and the agent knows that his lord doesn’t speak to Lady Lavellan. He probably watches her from afar, afraid of getting too close, afraid of talking with her, of touching her because she is too much, because she is everything to him.

The agent wonders if Lady Lavellan tries to speak to him all the same. Does she even know he is there?

“I…” he clears his throat, the little flame in his heart still there. “I will do my best to discover everything you asked for, sir.”

Fen’Harel slowly turns to him, his gaze now blank and controlled again; he nods, thanking him, but before the dream can end, before he wakes up in his cot with a light head and a heavy heart, the agent hurries to add:

“My lord, forgive me, but… did you not see what Lady Lavellan wears?”

Maybe it doesn’t appear in her dreams, but why shouldn’t it?

Lord Fen’Harel’s eyes widen and he holds his breath, as if he can’t believe what he heard.

“I am sorry?”

“I… I didn’t mean the clothes! I was referring to…” the agent makes vague gestures around his neck and chest and babbles out: “The pendant. That wolf jaw you used to wear before meeting her the last time. She always wears that.”

Fen’Harel stays still; not even his hands or mouth twitch. He stares at the agent, silent, and only his throat moves when he swallows.

There is light in his eyes now and the blue of his irises is as bright as the sky in the waking world.

“She doesn’t turn around in her dreams.” he finally says, his voice a whisper, a soft wisp of air. “She fears I may disappear again, like I used to do the first times.”

 _‘You are an idiot._ ’ the agent thinks before he can stop himself. Dread fills him and he hopes the Wolf can’t read his mind… or his face.

“I am sure you would see the jawbone on her chest if she turned around, my lord.” he says, praying that his tone doesn’t sound too cheerful. Fen’Harel doesn’t seem to notice because he nods and another smile, different from the others he has shown until now, appears on his face.

It’s like the one he had in the first dream: it’s warm and full of hope and the agent feels like that too.

 

\- - - -

 

He has no idea how to learn of the Inquisitor’s habits without seeming suspicious. He is the only agent of Fen’Harel in the base, the only intruder in the small group Lady Lavellan has gathered. Everyone is loyal to her and her cause and everyone reports directly to Sister Leliana or her spies.

He risks to be discovered if he asks too much, if he shows too much unwanted interest. He still doesn’t have many connections in this place, although everyone is friendly to him and he works fine with the other messengers.

But Fen’Harel has been clear: he must discover more about their plans, learn the names of those they are recruiting, and make sure that the Inquisitor is safe and in good health.

“The last point is priority.” he said.

Even if she is their adversary. Even if she is the one looking for more people that can help her in her mission. Even if she is the one who can disrupt their plan.

Still, nobody among Fen’Harel’s people consider her an enemy. And Fen’Harel considers her his heart, his light, his _vhenan_ , the love of his life, and every step forward he makes, every little success, plunge into his heart like a flaming knife.

His agents can only watch as he destroys himself to save the Elves. They can only listen as he tells them what the next step is with cold eyes and a distant voice. They can only nod and follow his orders as he gives them with clenched fists and tearful eyes.

The agent knows for certain that Fen’Harel wasn’t like this in the Inquisition. Not only because he had to disguise himself as a homely, humble elven apostate, but also because his relationships with the people there were different from the detached ones the Wolf has with his agents now.

It’s ironic: he didn’t consider those people real at first, but in the end he treated them as such. He respected them, he admired them, he loved them, and he still does. Now that he has to restore the world of the Elves and is helped by a small elven army, he treats his agents as if they are not really there with him, as if he can’t have with them the same friendship he had with the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle.

It’s probably true, he can’t. The agent can’t imagine himself speaking with Lord Fen’Harel normally, as though they are companions, despite their common objective. He can’t see himself joking with him, correcting him, sharing personal experiences with him, sitting around a fire and ask him questions. The Wolf is too sad, he is crushed by under too much guilt to see friends in the people who are helping him destroy this world he learned to love and admire. He is lonely.

The agent knows that both Lord Fen’Harel and Lady Lavellan miss the days of the Inquisition, the days of love, friendship, and camps around Thedas. He is sorry, because they experienced that joy and love and now they are apart, divided by a cruel destiny after tasting a hint of home and peace.

He feels bad about it, even if he doesn’t know why. He feels bad about a lot of things lately, but he is powerless and there isn’t much he can do.

He can only follow orders.

 

\- - - -

 

The occasion for him to meet the Inquisitor in her room is given to him by the young servant who brings her food.

She is limping, a tight bandage wrapped around her ankle. She fell from the stairs, she says when he asks her what happened. The covered tray that she carries looks heavy and he kindly offers to bring it to the Inquisitor in her place.

The girl - human and only a bit taller than him - stares at him with big eyes and shakes her head.

“No, I can’t! This is my job!”

Each servant has a personal task that is given to them directly by Sister Leliana or Lady Lavellan; only the most trusted people can prepare food and serve it, walk into the Inquisitor’s room, help her craft her weapons and armors. These tasks are not interchangeable and only this girl can bring food to the Inquisitor.

Still, she is limping pretty bad.

“Aren’t there stairs to go to the Inquisitor’s room?” the agent asks, frowning. “How do you intend to go up there when your foot is like that?”

“It’s… it’s fine. I can do it.” the girl mumbles, but she doesn’t put her weight on that leg and her strong grip on the edges of the tray betrays her pain.

“Let me bring it for you. I promise I won’t say a word to Sister Nightingale.” he smiles, feeling the scar on his cheek stretch, and sees her hesitate and ponder over all the possible consequences.

So he insists, folding his arms and using a cheeky tone: “Really, I’ve been here for over a month and you still don’t trust me? We eat together almost every day! Did I ever poison your food? Did I ever do something shady, potentially dangerous, or unexplainably reckless typical of an infiltrated of Fen’Harel?”

“… You did climb that huge oak in the garden to save the cook’s kitten.”

“That only proves how much of an amazing person I am.”

The girl laughs and he grins at her. Sometimes she reminds him of his friend.

“I do trust you.” the girl says and his smile fades while his heart aches and guilt eats him from inside. She looks at the door leading to the Inquisitor’s room and sighs.

“She never gets mad, but what if she does this time?”

“I won’t speak to her.” the agent lies. “I will leave the tray behind the door and knock to let her know it’s there. She’ll think you brought it.”

“That’s not how I do it! She will understand something is wrong!”

He sighs and pries the tray from her hands. She gasps, but doesn’t try to take it back, so he says: “She won’t get mad. I will explain what happened and she will understand.” He smiles. “She always does, right? She seems very kind.”

“Oh, she is! She always thanks me with a smile and asks me how mom is doing.” the girl looks back at the door and whispers: “She looks so sad, though. I heard that this Fen’Harel was her lover.”

“He still is.” the agent blurts out and the girl sighs, a hand on her cheek, big eyes filled with sympathy.

“Maker, it must be horrible. I can’t imagine how she feels.”

He can’t either, but he knows she feels just like his lord does.

Then the girl smiles and she sounds more optimistic:

“But I am sure they will reunite somehow. Love always finds a way.”

Yes, she definitely reminds him of his friend.

 

\- - - -

 

When he reaches the corridor that leads to the Inquisitor’s door, he uncover the tray and peek into it.

Its heaviness is not caused by a great number of dishes, but by fruits and the short, but large pitcher of water whose form he had glimpsed through the cloth. There is nothing else: no meat, no fish, no vegetables, no bread. Only apples, pears, a little bowl of berries, and water.

Grumbling, because he seriously can’t understand how someone can live off of that stuff only, he takes out the sandwich that he was keeping as meal for later and places it between the bowl of fruits and the berries. Then he shreds elfroot inside the pitcher, the pieces so small they will soon mix with the water; it will help her feel invigorated, in better shape, and it will soothe any physical pain she may be having.

He knows the presence of the sandwich will cause her concern; she didn’t request it from the cook, after all, and if she goes to the kitchen staff to ask about it, everyone will tell her that they didn’t put it in the tray. Suspicions would fall immediately on him.

But Lord Fen’Harel has asked him to make sure she is fine and if she eats like this every day, then things are worse than he thought. He can’t just go to the kitchens and ask to change the Inquisitor’s order; even in that case, she would know about it and he would get in trouble.

He hopes she won’t get too curious and will accept the presence of the bread with humor.

Also, he thinks with a heavy sigh, he will have to find a way to check her tray every day.

Maybe he should have told Sister Leliana that his legs were too ruined to run and he could only work inside the base.

Grim and worried, he walks over to the closed door and knocks three times, without hurry.

“Yes?”

He starts sweating, just like he does when he is in the presence of Fen’Harel.

“I brought food, my lady.”

A long moment of silence, then: “… Come in.”

He opens the door and discreetly looks inside the room before stepping in.

It’s warm: fire roars in the fireplace, a simple bed with a heavy blanket on it is placed against the wall, there are books and papers scattered everywhere, so many the already tiny room looks even smaller.

The Inquisitor is sitting at her desk, turning the pages of a huge, ancient tome. The majority of the books and documents are there, almost hiding her behind piles of white and yellow paper.

She reminds him of Fen’Harel. His room and desk are a mess just like hers.

She wears the same clothes from days ago, but her cloak is missing; she looks more disheveled, hair unruly, shirt wrinkled. The jawbone pendant still hangs from her neck, though, and the agent can’t help but smile.

His smile disappears when she raises her eyes from the book to stare at him. She intimidates him just like Fen’Harel does; he feels the same awe and respect he feels for his lord when he is in her presence.

“Well, this is new.” she says, placing softly her hand on the open book. “How come you are bringing me food now?”

“The girl who usually does it hurt her foot, my lady.” he explains, forcing himself to look at her and not at the letters and scribbled papers on her desk. It’s not that hard. “I offered to do it in her place.”

“Leliana would skin you alive, if she knew.” Lady Lavellan smiles. “I should send you away and not even touch that food, but I don’t want to make you or that girl face the Divine’s fury. Plus I am starving.”

He smiles, already at ease and relaxed. It’s easier with her. He is sure he could joke and dare a little more with his words and she wouldn’t mind.

She is a good leader, like Fen’Harel is, but her flame is bright and hot like the sun and her love is enveloped in hope, not kept trapped by pain and twisted knots of duty and guilt.

For the millionth time, he is sure she can change things. She can change Fen’Harel’s plan, change his mind and convince him to find another way.

He is scared again, but that warm feeling he felt in the dream with the Wolf comes back. He accepts it, even if he can’t give it a name yet.

“Where can I put this?” he asks and Lady Lavellan points to a small table near the desk, free from any book or letter.

“Thank you.” she says. He is unsure whether uncover the tray or not at first, then he decides to do it, because his sandwich is in there and she probably won’t eat it if she isn’t sure it’s safe.

So he removes the cloth, bracing himself, and sees her eyes immediately find the intruder.

“Ah, the cook!” she sighs, shaking her head with a fond smile. “It’s the third time this month that she tries to make me eat more.”

Relief floods through the agent and it causes him to say without thinking: “You should, my lady.”

She glances up at him in surprise and he shuts his mouth with a gasp. Maybe he dared _too much_.

But she only snorts and takes the pitcher, pouring the water into a wooden cup.

“I know.” she says, before taking a few sips of water. She smiles at him. “I don’t look like the mighty leader of an organization that must save the world a second time, do I? I admit I looked better when I was still Inquisitor.” Her eyes move down, to look at the open book, at the papers and letters all around. She doesn’t really see them though.

“That was then.” she murmurs and the sound of her voice breaks the agent’s heart. “Many things are different now.”

He is about to excuse himself and leave the room, because he doesn’t like seeing her like this, so hurt and fragile in that big chair, the perfect copy of his lord.

But then she smiles again, bright and confident, and her right hand - her only hand - moves to grasp the jawbone around her neck.

“But many things are still the same too.” she says and her eyes are two pools of sun. The agent looks at her small hand, at her thin fingers curled with delicateness and strength together around the jawbone, and he smiles.

“This was his.” she says, her voice tender. “He always wore it when he was in the Inquisition. He left it for me on the grass when we met after the Qunari’s attack.”

She traces the teeth, looking past the dark jaw, lost in her thoughts and memories, and the agent gently intervenes, the impulse stronger than him: “Would you like to see him again, my lady?”

Her head snaps up and she stares at him, surprised, not expecting that question. He realizes it sounded odd, that it was risky, so he hurries to continue: “He… he is your lover and you want to redeem him, right? This is what everyone says.”

“It’s true.” she nods, serious and solemn.

He shifts his weight on his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. He said too much.

“But he is also our enemy and…”

“No!”

Lavellan springs up and there is panic written all over her pale face.

“Please, don’t say that! He is not our enemy!” she grasps the jawbone again, the source of her comfort and reassurance. “If we start to call him like that, then it is already over. He doesn’t want to do this. He feels he must, but he doesn’t want to anymore.”

 _‘I know.’_ the agent thinks and watches her in silence as she sits down again and sighs.

“This organization doesn’t exist to fight Solas, to kill him and disrupt his plans like we did with Corypheus. Nobody here considers him a monster.” She shakes her head and the agent can see she is holding back tears. He swallows, not used to hearing the Wolf being called by his real name.

“You thought that because of all these precautions, didn’t you? These permanent tasks you saw are not to protect me against Solas. He would never hurt me, let alone poison me. I know this. Everyone does.” She caresses the jawbone, gently and slowly. “The real enemies are the Venatori spies still around. Months ago, one of their men successfully entered the base and tried to kill me.”

She looks back at the agent, who, feeling wretched and stupid like never before, can only return her intense gaze with an awestruck one.

“I know there is another way. Another way which can restore the Elves, but also maintain Thedas safe at the same time. I want to help Solas achieve what he wants without destroying the beauty and value of this world.” She smiles, fierce, strong, and luminous like the sun, and concludes:

“I know our love can do this.”

The agent swallows, so overwhelmed that he is shaking and a heavy lump has formed in his throat. He diverts his eyes from Lavellan’s, moves them to her desk, but doesn’t even think about reading the names and words on the letters and documents there. He thinks about his lord, about his sad gaze and slumped shoulders, about his orders given with clarity, but a fake distance that only shows how much he really cares.

If Fen’Harel succeeds, he will die with this world. If he wins, he will also lose; there won’t be smiles, giggles, and kisses in a room full of love anymore, no frilly cakes shared in front of a fireplace, none of those dreams and timid future plans of domesticity and family that his friend eavesdropped.

He feels doubt and fear and when he sees love shine in Lady Lavellan’s eyes, identical to the love that burns within Lord Fen’Harel’s eyes, he feels small, so small, as if he is a tiny observer watching the moves of two figures too majestic and important for him to understand and influence.

But he does understand; he understands that their love is pure and true and strong, he understands that it’s the key to save this world, the other path the Inquisitor is looking for.

He is scared, thrilled, intrigued, and more scared.

“You are right, my lady.” he says with a firm voice while his heart beats faster. “Forgive me. I am new here and I still have to learn many things. I…” he stops, hesitates, then: “I hope you will succeed.”

He really does. He bows and quickly leaves the room before she can say anything else. He closes the door behind himself and walks through the corridor, but stops right in the middle of it and leans against the wall, his head heavy, his heart light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter is already way longer than the first one. I can see a pattern here, but it's stronger than me ;_;
> 
> Thank you for reading and forgive me for any typos!


	3. Chapter 3

The look on Fen’Harel’s face when he informs him of the attempted murder against the Inquisitor terrifies the agent.

It’s everything the people of Thedas have feared since the dawn of time: it’s the wrath of a god, the fury of a too powerful entity, the ire of a creature who can petrify people without raising one finger and change the world forever with a spell.

He knows Fen’Harel doesn’t want to be considered a deity, but he has to look away from his eyes and bow his head, because he is overwhelmed and cannot stand his glare.

“Protect her.” Fen’Harel says, his voice deep, gravelly, the rage in it barely contained. “No matter the cost, you must protect her and keep her safe.”

The agent wants to explain that it’s not really easy to do so when the majority of his time is spent delivering letters - he can learn some new things and hear every kind of useful information, but the Inquisitor stays in the base, working in her room, while he is outside, in the village nearby or in the fields and forests to meet other messengers for Sister Leliana.

If a Venatori agent were to slip poison into Lady Lavellan’s water or jump out of the shadows to stab her, he wouldn’t be there. He doesn’t doubt the experience and courage of the _real_ soldiers of the organization nor Leliana’s agents, who are always so cautious and ready to intervene in any moment. But if a Venatori agent already managed to enter the base - so different from Skyhold, so _less protected_ -, then the risks are still high and an outsider just like he is could really make the difference.

He could, if he wasn’t always out of that damn place for nearly the entire day.

He wants to explain all this to Lord Fen’Harel, but then he stops. He knew the risks and hardships that awaited him when he accepted to be part of this army. If he complains, the Wolf will just tell him to find a solution, to complete his task as best as he can. He won’t accept a ‘no’, a ‘but’; Lady Lavellan’s life is in danger, it always is, and the Wolf fears for her, but cannot be near her, not in the waking world at least.

The agent must do this alone: it’s his duty, his responsibility - and it’s enormous, gigantic. Fen’Harel trusts him to keep his lover safe and if he fails, the consequences will be terrible, the despair and pain of the Wolf will know no limit. Fen’Harel will be left alone, in a world without his _vhenan_ , in a world without Lavellan.

The agent can’t allow it. Won’t allow it.

So he nods and swears he will do everything in his power to always keep an eye on her and any new suspicious member.

Fen’Harel is tense, fear is in his eyes, and the agent wonders if he finally spoke to her in her dreams or if she found the courage to turn around.

He doesn’t dare ask and he longs for the same friendship the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle had with the man before him, for their chance to joke with him, to ask him questions without fear, to be curious about him and his thoughts, feelings, and ideas without holding back.

Instead he sighs and shows a smile that it’s not entirely happy, not entirely sure, and says: “Being near her will also help me find more information about their plans, sir.”

He wanted to sound professional, still devout to the cause despite his doubts, but apparently his words only make Fen’Harel feel worse, because the Wolf stares at him as if he has been wounded. He is shocked, as though he has forgotten what they are doing, what all their painful efforts are for. Then his face falls and he looks down. His hands are clasped behind his back as always, his whole being shut down from the world around him, even if this is just a dream.

The agent curses himself and his stupidity and tries to find another topic that can soothe the Wolf’s pain. The only thing that comes in mind is the Inquisitor, of course, so he says:

“Lady Lavellan told me that nobody in the organization considers you their enemy, my lord. She believes there is a way for Thedas to be saved even if the Veil is destroyed and she and the others are working to find it.”

He smiles while Fen’Harel raises his head to look at him.

“She… she said that your love can find that way.”

His smile crumbles when the Wolf’s eyes swell with tears. Fen’Harel doesn’t move a muscle, he says nothing, but his clear eyes show clearly his inner turmoil, his despair, his longing, and the agent can only stare as his lord waves one hand to dissipate the dream.

The last thing he sees is one tear slowly running down Fen’Harel’s cheek.

 

\- - - -

 

His days become hectic, blurry , frantically filled with tasks and places to visit.

There are letters, missive, and packages to send and receive, people to meet, words to pronounce. The months pass quickly and he learns snippets of information almost every day, hints that tell him something about what happens inside the room where the Inquisitor and her friends meet.

He soon becomes one of the best messengers thanks to his speed and the Divine starts to give him sincere compliments, as well as more confidential papers to deliver.

During his travels, he finds a spot far from curious eyes - and from Leliana’s agents who may be following him - and uses the hot air of a fire and other tricks to open the letters, read their contents, and fix the envelopes as they were before without a single crease.

He sends all his report to Lord Fen’Harel, who doesn’t visit him in his dreams anymore. The agent always makes sure to mention the Inquisitor and her wellbeing, but he knows the Wolf expects something else. The information he collects is good, important, it can influence their plans, but Fen’Harel is worried, just like he is.

Now that the main objective is to protect Lady Lavellan, he regrets immensely what he told Sister Leliana the first day they met. He should have told her his legs and lungs aren’t good anymore, that he can work only inside, that he is an excellent cook, that he is pretty good at cleaning and tidying up… anything just to avoid being sent far from the base so often.

Every time he comes back to the small, frugal fortress, his heart beats like a hammer, dread flowing through his veins like ice. He is afraid of stepping into the hall: he fears to see the lifeless body of the Inquisitor surrounded by her weeping friends and soldiers, a bloody knife in her chest. He fears to hear the news that Lady Lavellan has been poisoned and won’t survive the night. He fears to assist at her murder and being unable to lift a finger because too exhausted to intervene in time.

When he finally gets the chance to stay in the base, he spends his time in the kitchens or in the servants’ quarters, which are separated from those of the messengers and soldiers. He creates ties, bonds, he wins people’s hearts with his grins and positive attitude; he needs to collect another kind of information, the kind that only the people who work here every day, every hour, possess.

The Inquisitor has a mechanical arm that the Arcanist of the old Inquisition made for her. She wears it whenever she goes out and sometimes she can be seen wearing it inside the base too. One of the servants tells him that she still has to get used to it and that it leaves angry red marks on her delicate flesh. Still, she wears it without complaining and she can fight well with it. When she leaves the base for her travels - which can last several days -, she always wears it.

The Inquisitor takes care of the garden and plants new seeds in it almost once a month. It’s her favorite place in the base, she told one of the agents, and she often walks there to have some respite and relax.

The Inquisitor used to sew and make many beautiful things with a needle and colored threads. Without her left arm, it’s now very difficult and she still cannot use the mechanical one to achieve the results she desires. She doesn’t sew anymore, another messenger tells him, but apparently she still tries once in a while, because there are half-made wolf plushes hidden in the mess that her room is, little cute things that she desperately tried to complete.

“They say she would like to give them to the Dread Wolf.” the messenger concludes with a melancholic face and the agent stares at the sunset, letting out a deep, heavy sigh.

The Inquisitor cries during the day, the girl who brings her food tells him one night, as they eat dinner. She often hears her sob behind the door and in those occasions she goes all the way back to the start of the corridor and makes a lot of noise with her feet to let Lavellan know that she is coming. The Inquisitor quickly calms herself down, dries her eyes, and when the girl knocks and opens the door, she is smiling, even if her eyes are red and there are wet trails on her cheeks.

“Do you know if she cries at night?” the agent asks, pushing the bowl of soup away because his stomach is twisted into knots and his appetite is gone. The girl shakes her head.

“She doesn’t.” she says. “I heard the agents reassure the Most Holy about this too. She sleeps peacefully, as if she is always making good, pleasant dreams. Maybe she dreams of Fen’Harel…?”

 _‘He is an idiot._ ’ the agent thinks, smiling, relief and joy flowing through him. _‘But he is a good idiot.’_

“I heard that sometimes she calls him, though.” the girl adds, thoughtfully tapping the spoon against her lips. “She calls for him, asking him to wait and stay instead of going away.”

 _‘Nevermind._ ’ The agent grumbles under his breath and takes back the full bowl, stuffing his mouth with soup with angry, quick gestures. _‘He is only an idiot.’_

 

\- - - -

 

The cook becomes his friend too and the agent always makes sure to stay in the kitchen when she prepares the tray for Lady Lavellan. This way, he can slip more food and delicacies into her menu. It’s risky, but it’s the only way to offer her better nourishment.

“Why does she eat so little?” he sighs one evening, staring at the fruits and water she requests every day with distaste. The cook is as exasperated and worried as he is.

“I tried to give her something tastier and nutrient many times.” she says. “But she never touched it.”

“Maybe she would eat something typically Dalish…?”

“She used to make hearth cakes with her lover, years ago, in the kitchens of Skyhold. But I never learned how to prepare them and I don’t want to open still-fresh wounds.” The woman sighs, motherly fondness and worry on her round face.

“She and this Fen’Harel also ate a lot of frilly cakes.” she continues. “I always ordered the sweetest and most intricate for them, straight from Val Royeaux. He had a soft spot for them and Lady Lavellan stole them almost every day to eat them later with him in her quarters.” She chuckles, shaking her head, but the sound is devoid of mirth. “I don’t think I will ever find the strength to send her frilly cakes again, poor girl.”

The agent doesn’t reply; he doesn’t know how to prepare those hearth cakes either and the memories related to them are too sweet and precious for the Inquisitor to be spoiled like that. He remembers his friend’s descriptions, he remembers what she told him about that night in the kitchen. It’s all too beautiful, all to important.

He also remembers the frilly cakes, how much his friend told him about them and the special place they had in Lavellan and Fen’Harel’s daily life. Those are important too, those hold a precious meaning as well, but they could be a way to send her a message.

A way to let her know that there is someone there who knows how much she is hurting and wants to help.

He forces himself to push away those thoughts: he would only cause her pain or make her panic. It would be like admitting that there is a spy of Fen’Harel in the base. She is brilliant, she would understand the hint, and find him in no time.

Or maybe not. Maybe she would wait for more silent clues; maybe she would try to communicate with him as well and give him all the messages she wants Fen’Harel to hear and receive.

He recalls her face when he asked her if she wanted to see Lord Fen’Harel again, her surprised, hopeful expression.

He sighs and rubs his face, tired; his bones ache and his back is strained after spending the whole day on a horse. More letters await him tomorrow and he will be forced to spend other precious hours far from the Inquisitor.

The girl who brings the food to Lavellan enters in that moment and the cook gets away from the tray to greet her; he uses that precious chance to slip a sandwich and some small, dry sausages under the cloth.

There are tiny, simple frilly cakes on his right, but he stubbornly ignores them. It’s not the right time. It’s not the right choice.

He watches the tray disappear behind the door, carried by the kind girl, and he stays in the kitchen, hoping that Lady Lavellan will find the strength to eat more this time.

If she fell ill, Lord Fen’Harel would never forgive him… and himself.

The agent would feel pretty wretched too.

 _‘Please, my lady.’_ he thinks, munching slowly the banana bread the cook has given him. _‘For the sake of everyone, get better soon.’_

 

\- - - -

 

His worst nightmare comes true when Sister Nightingale calls him in her room.

She is smiling, so at first he thinks things must not be going so bad. Then he remembers how _particular_ his situation inside this organization is and he swallows.

Sister Leliana hands him the official outfit of her agents. Hood included.

“In the past six months, you have made an excellent job.” she says. “You never gave me any reason to doubt your intentions, so I believe it is time to reward your efforts.”

He almost whines. Becoming one of Leliana’s agents means more secret messages, more delicate correspondence, more missions that would finally tell him what the Inquisitor is planning to find this other way that will save all Thedas, where she goes when she leaves the base for her personal missions and causes him to have a heartattack.

It also means more money, the majority of which he sends to Lord Fen’Harel and his army; he uses a small part for his necessities, which aren’t many, and another to help those still recovering from the Breach. He may be a lying asshole, but he is a _kind-hearted_ lying asshole.

“I…” he swallows again. He told Sister Leliana that he wanted to join this not-Inquisition-anymore to do good and finally help the world. If he refuses now, she will understand something is wrong. Her agents are those who make the biggest difference and not wanting to be part of them means he doesn’t care enough, that he _lied_ about his wish to help.

They must not suspect that he lied, not even once. He cannot leave this place.

“Thank you, Your Holiness.” he says, bowing, grateful that his shaky voice makes him appear overjoyed and too excited to speak clearly. “I… I am honored. I swear I will do my best.”

He will have to inform Lord Fen’Harel of this. He hasn’t seen him in his dreams since that night when he told him about the Venatori and their attempted murder against Lavellan. Once the Wolf sent words to him through another agent, an elven tanner in disguise, telling him that he was grateful for all the precious information he was gathering. They were extremely useful and he was doing a great job.

The Wolf wanted more details about Lady Lavellan, though, the tanner told him. The agent had to admit that he didn’t have much about that because of his job as a messenger and the other elf shook his head, looking at him with something akin to sympathy.

Now that he is Sister Leliana’s new agent, his time spent in the base will be even less. How is he going to say this to the Wolf? He knows he cares for information only to a certain extent; what he really wants is knowing that Lavellan is safe, constantly watched over even in the waking world by one of his most trusted men.

How is he going to tell him he cannot do this anymore because he is too good at his job?

He decides to use written words; if he really wanted, he could tell another agent to inform the Wolf that he wishes to speak with him in dreams. But he is not insane nor suicidal, so another written report is the best approach to inform Fen’Harel that he won’t be able to protect the love of his life from crazy Venatori spies and other enemies.

He sends the message, knowing that by the time it arrives to Fen’Harel, he will be already far, communicating with the base only through crows and eating his nails every day, consumed by worry.

 

\- - - -

 

His first assignment is in the Free Marches. It will last a month or more, Sister Leliana tells him, and a cold sweat runs down his back. The new outfit is comfortable, but it feels heavy on his shoulders.

He meets Lady Lavellan as he slowly heads to the stables, almost dragging his feet on the ground. She beams at him, pride in her eyes, and all he wants to do is chain himself to the main door and refuse to leave.

He talked with her before in the past months, but never much. Only occasional, short conversations that never really led to anything serious. She was always kind, though, and his admiration and respect for her increased with each spoken words.

“I didn’t know you are one of Leliana’s agents now! Congratulations!” she exclaims. She amicably clasps his forearm and he feels the urge to bow his head and show her reference as he does with Fen’Harel.

He knows she wouldn’t like that, just like the Wolf doesn’t, so he weakly returns her smile.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“You are the one who always tells jokes and sings at the top of his lungs, right?” she is smirking now and he blushes, looking down. Those were… tactics to appear friendly and funny. He doesn’t care about the human girl’s laughter or the other messengers’ pats on his shoulder. He doesn’t care about the cook’s beautiful songs sung in the kitchen at night, while she gives warm bread to everyone and fills the kitchen with her melodious voice. He doesn’t care about that one agent that told him things about the Inquisitor, always so eager to help and share his food with him.

He tells himself that he doesn’t care, that he _must not_ care, because even if he has doubts about his cause now, even if he is confused and scared, he is still an agent of Fen’Harel and these bonds would only make things more complicated. The future is uncertain and dangerous and he can only follow orders, hoping his small interventions will make things better somehow.

“You will be missed.” Lavellan said with a nod. “Did you say goodbye to your companions?”

“Y-Yes, my lady.” He did and it hurt more than he will ever admit.

“Good.” her smile is sad now. “I am sure you will see them again soon, though. Don’t worry.”

He nods too and her smile is now as bright as before and her hand patting his shoulder seems to lift some of the pressure he feels on his back.

“Be careful!” she says. “And thank you for all the effort you are putting into our cause.”

He feels like crying and when he turns to watch her one last time, her frail, willowy frame minuscule against the high walls of stone, he only wants to run back to her, kneel at her feet, and reveal everything to her.

Did Fen’Harel feel like this too? He probably did and the agent can’t comprehend how he managed to hold back for so long, especially at night, when he slept in Lavellan’s arms and basked in their reciprocal love.

His affection for this couple grows stronger and as he rides in the field surrounding the base, past the forest and deep into the land, he realizes that there is only one thing he can do to continue his mission.

He rides for two days, makes calculations in his mind, prepares himself in any way necessary, and when he is sure to be far from the base but still near enough to it, he gets down the horse and sits on the grass, resting his back against a tree.

 _“Protect her.”_ Lord Fen’Harel’s voice echoes in his mind. He knows he won’t like this. He knows he won’t approve, because he cares for his agents, he cares for _everyone_ , and it’s so ironic that the agent feels like crying again.

_“No matter the cost, you must protect her and keep her safe.”_

He knows Lady Lavellan will be saddened by this too, she is kind and she cares a lot - _too much_ \- as well. But he knew the risks when he accepted to be part of this, even if he is nothing, a pebble among pillars of lost glory, ancient walls decorated with gold and corruption, and giant statues with glowing eyes.

This is his duty. There is a word in Elvhen for this that he doesn’t remember - he started studying the language pretty late and blood is pounding into his ears so loudly that he can’t concentrate.

He unsheathes the knife attached to his belt and rolls up his left pant leg, uncovering the skin under it.

He thinks of the races he used to make with his friends when he was young, the feeling of the wind on his face as he ran and ran, free like a little beast, the pleasant ache of his muscles when he stopped and cheered because he had won again.

He thinks of his admirable speed, his ability to quickly dodge attacks and appear behind the enemy, silent like a shadow.

He thinks of his friend, of how she watched him train with awe in her eyes, her curious questions and sincere admiration.

Then he thinks of Lord Fen’Harel and Lady Lavellan, their sad faces as they recall the past, but also the hope and love in their eyes as they imagine the future.

He is nothing, only a small pebble, but even a tiny stone like him can cause great things or be the prelude for them.

He finally finds the strength he needs and raises the knife, eyes fixated on his uncovered leg, mouth dry, chest heaving, heart beating fast, faster than a child running in a field.

He is going back to the base soon and this time he will stay within its walls, ready to help and protect Lady Lavellan and the love she and Lord Fen’Harel have for each other.

He takes a deep breath and plunges the knife deep into his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought this was going to be painless and not much angsty, right? HAH. ; - ;
> 
> Actually fun fact: the banana bread mentioned in this chapter is a dish described in _World of Thedas 2_ , eaten by the Inquisition soldiers.


	4. Chapter 4

His short journey back to the base is painful, bloody, and filled with groans and shouts of pain.

Thankfully his horse is fast and he made sure not to stop too far, knowing that blood loss can kill him as well as infections.

His legs are broken, battered, damaged beyond repair; the muscles are torn, the tendons severed, the bones cracked. Magic can’t heal this, not perfectly. He is going to limp for the rest of his life.

In the middle of that terrible suffering, he doesn’t think about it that much, although it’s an unpleasant weight, a shadow lurking in corners of his mind and heart that he knows will come back to haunt him later.

For now, he only focuses on the road ahead, repeating to himself the story he came up with before doing this. He knows Venatori agents have attacked Lavellan’s soldiers in the past; he will use them as the perfect excuse to explain this, the only way not to make the Inquisitor and Sister Leliana suspect him.

Every movement of the horse, even the tiniest one, makes him flinch and bite his lips until they are bloody like his legs. Still, he can’t stop and urges the animal to go faster, using one hand to smack its side; he can’t even think about moving his ankles without bile rising up in his throat.

He and his exhausted horse arrive at the base at the dawn of the second day, just like he planned. The agent that always shared his food with him is the first to see him from the walls and shouts, while the gates open.

He rides into the courtyard, body shivering with fever; he can’t feel his legs anymore, not even the pain, and for a moment he fears he exaggerated, that he will be secluded in a bed forever. Before someone can help him down the horse, he falls, too weak to hold onto the reins.

He hits the ground with a grunt while soldiers, scouts, and the few merchants that work with this organization gasp and run to him. He sees feet, hems of dresses, armors, and gentle hands lift his hood to look at his face.

Another gasp, which he recognizes; he glances up and sees Scout Harding’s freckled face, her usually cheerful eyes staring at him with horror and disbelief.

She is often away, travelling far to do whatever the Inquisitor needs her to do. She is the main scout, the one who leads and helps the others, together with Sister Leliana; she is one of the most trusted people inside the organization and he likes her. They spoke in the past, not many times, but enough for her to carve a small, comfortable space in his heart, together with all the others that he doesn’t want to call ‘friends’ because he can’t let himself do it.

She calls his name, delicately shaking him, and he realizes that his sight is blurry, the corners are getting dark, and he can’t see her freckles anymore.

“Venatori.” he croaks out, his mouth and tongue dry. “Attacked. Let me live.”

The lie burns in him, it scorches his face and teeth as he lets it out. It almost hurts him more than his wounds do.

A familiar voice echoes in the courtyard: it’s the Inquisitor and his heart - before beating too hard, pumping blood into him with dangerous energy - now slows down and allows him to think straight and not panic.

“ _Fenedhis_!” Lavellan swears under her breath. “Take him to the infirmary, quickly! He needs the healer!”

Someone brings a leather stretcher and he screams when they lift him to put him there.

“Sorry!” the kind man who shares his food, the one who had to grab his feet, exclaims. “I am sorry!”

The agent smiles weakly, his mind too foggy to form words and pronounce them. He wants to rest; he hasn’t slept in two days, the pain too excruciating to let him close his eyes and reach the Fade.

He wonders if he can keep all this a secret from Lord Fen’Harel. He doesn’t need to know what he did to remain in the base, he doesn’t need to know the extent of his sacrifice. He already carries too much guilt, too much pain; the agent doesn’t want to add this one to his pile of regrets.

He remembers that his lord told him that dreams don’t always portray elements that exist in reality. Maybe he can hide his butchered legs in the Fade? He is not a Dreamer, he is not even a mage, but maybe he can control his mind just to do something as simple as not showing bad scars and ruined skin.

Then he sees another known face among the ones who are observing him with worry, sympathy, and affection: the elven tanner, another of Fen’Harel’s agents, the one who brought him their lord’s message last time.

He is staring at him with horror, shock, but also something similar to awed wonder. He knows what really happened. He can imagine how he is back here, because he would have probably done the same.

Or maybe not, the agent thinks. He winks at him and the tanner disappears into the crowd.

Well, then. Looks like the Wolf will know what he did sooner than he expected.

 

\- - - -

 

He went to the infirmary only twice: to visit another messenger after she was attacked by a bear and see the newborn baby of one of the servants.

It is strange to be here as a patient: he has always been a practical man and he is used to taking care of his wounds alone. The bed is comfortable, the air smells like elfroot and embrium, there is a huge window right in front of him, letting all the light come in and invest him like a golden mantle.

He doesn’t believe in the Maker nor in the false Elven gods - he believes only in his cause, or at least he did before he stepped into this base and talked with the Inquisitor.

He decides then that he believes in Lord Fen’Harel and Lady Lavellan. He decides, sure and stubborn, that he completely believes in their love, deities, gods, and prophets be damned.

“Son.” the healer sternly calls him. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes.”

But he wants to. Oh, he wants to sleep so bad. There is peace and relief in dreams, his legs won’t burn and itch there; he will be able to run and climb trees again, he will feel the wind on his face and not smell the pungent scent of blood.

He _wants_ to sleep.

Did Lord Fen’Harel feel like this too, at first?

In the end, the agent finally slips into the Fade, too weak to listen to the healer. He hopes he won’t meet the Wolf, because he knows he won’t be able to hide the truth, not as he is now, so feverish and frail.

He wants to face this mess later, once he has fully acknowledged the seriousness of his situation, the consequences of what he has done to himself to help his lord and Lady Lavellan.

But when he finds himself in a familiar dream - the fields he used to run in when he was a child - it’s not the Wolf whom he meets.

It’s a boy, his gaunt face partially covered by a big hat. His clothes are tattered, as if he has worn them too many times, but his smile is kind and the way he’s playing with his hands softens the agent’s heart.

He doesn’t remember this person, but he doesn’t know this is a dream; he is only aware of that when Lord Fen’Harel visits him, so he accepts this strange boy without questioning his presence and smiles back at him.

“Hello!” the boy says, surprisingly cheerful, and he hesitates only for a second before greeting back: “Hello.”

The boy slightly raises his head and the agent can see his eyes - a pale blue, interrupted by wisps of blonde hair.

“The knife enters the flesh one, two, three, many times. Screams and whimpers as the blade brings me closer to home. The Wolf doesn’t know what happened yet. Will he mourn with me? A sacrifice worth the pain and loss.”

The agent gasps and the illusion is shattered. He remembers this is not real, that he is not really in the familiar fields of his childhood. He is in the Fade and once he awakens, his legs will be ruined again.

He wants to cry.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice hoarse. “A Dreamer?”

“No.” the boy’s voice is softer instead. “I am Compassion, but my friends call me Cole.”

A spirit. The agent doesn’t know much about them, but he knows for sure that his lord likes them and always respected them.

He seems to recall something about a spirit boy who helped the Inquisition, although almost nobody remembers him. His friend who worked in Skyhold doesn’t, but Fen’Harel mentioned him and he heard Lavellan pronounce his name too.

“You were with the Inquisition, right?” He blinks when the spirit smiles happily, as if he is grateful to have been remembered, then continues: “You… you know who I am?”

“Yes. Solas’ agent, one of the many people who want to help him. You are confused. You still want to help, but in a different way. You want to believe in another path, in the other way Lavellan is trying to find.”

The agent takes a deep breath, in a futile attempt to calm himself. He heard that spirits know many things. Maybe this one can give him a clear answer. Maybe he can tell him if he is insane, reckless, or actually doing the right thing.

“Does it exist?” he asks, making a step forward. He instinctively flinches, expecting his legs to hurt, but they don’t. He looks down and sees clear, normal flesh, with only familiar, old, small scars scattered on it.

He looks up again, his eyes pleading.

“Tell me! Does this other way exist?”

“Yes.” the spirit nods and the agent lets out a relieved, shaky sigh; his shoulders slump and he covers his face with his hands, inhaling and exhaling slowly in measured breaths.

When he moves away his hands, his eyes are glossy and Compassion - Cole? - is smiling at him again.

“The Wolf wants to be helped. He feels this is his duty, he thinks he must do this, but he doesn’t want to anymore.”

Lavellan told him these exact words too. The agent swallows his tears.

“He loves this world and the people in it now. He hopes his _vhenan_ will find this other way and show it to him.” Cole sighs, almost frustrated. “He is scared. He visits her in dreams, but doesn’t dare speaking. If she gets too close, he leaves, crying because he wants to stay with her.”

“He still hasn’t talked with her?”

“No, but she does talk. She doesn’t turn anymore, not wanting to see him disappear again, but she always talks. He still hasn’t seen the jawbone she always wears, but he knows it’s there on her chest and longing fills his heart.”

The agent mutters a bad word under his breath and rubs tiredly his eyes.

If this spirit is saying the truth, if he’s right, then… then what he has done hasn’t been a mistake. Then what he has been feeling - all the doubts, regrets, fears that piled up inside him in these long months - don’t have to be pushed away and ignored.

“The Elves must be restored, but this world deserves to be saved. The agent remembers his friend and sees the love his lord and his lady have for each other.” Cole looks at the horizon: the fields are vast, seemingly endless, but there is a faint, blue line in the distance.

“ _I know our love can do this_. Her words are carved into his soul now and he wants to help. A small pebble swims in a stream of choices and consequences. It dreams of the sea.”

“That…” the agent clears his voice, embarrassed. How does one speak with spirits? Lord Fen’Harel surely knows how to, but he doesn’t and fidgets nervously, afraid of saying the wrong thing or offending the boy. Can he even be offended…?

“That thing you do.” he says, rubbing his neck. “Are you reading my mind?”

“Your pain is not old as his, but it’s strong and fresh and loud. I read that.” the boy tilts his head. “You care about them. About Solas and Lavellan.”

“Yes, well…” the agent now is blushing and is painfully aware of the way his long, narrow ears are darkening. He huffs and looks down, at the golden and green grass around his feet.

“You care about many people. Your friends in Solas’ base. Your friends in Lavellan’s base. You want to help everyone and see smiles on their faces.”

“These factions don’t hate each other.” he says, remembering Lavellan’s words. “They are not enemies. This is not a war.”

“You are right. It’s something so much simpler, something almost silly.” Cole smiles and suddenly all the agent’s fears go away. “In the end, the Wolf will see. Lavellan will show him. But we must give her a hand.”

“Boy.” the agent frowns at him, almost disappointed, and folds his arms. “That was not funny. I won’t allow such jokes about Lady Lavellan in my dreams nor in any other place.”

“Jokes…?” Cole seems confused, then his mouth forms a cute ‘o’ and he exclaims: “Oh, you think I said that on purpose! I am sorry, I am not good with jokes. Varric tried to teach me, but they are difficult.” He suddenly looks offended and even _pouts_. “I would never offend Lavellan!”

“Good.” the agent laughs, amused. He never spoke with a spirit before, but this one is good, funny, and kind. If the destruction of the Veil will allow more spirits like him to enter the waking world and not let them turn into demons, then he is all for it.

But he also wants to see Lord Fen’Harel and Lady Lavellan happy and together, so this Cole is right. They have to help her.

“Looks like I will have to become a double agent.” he mumbles, scratching his cheek. He gasps, eyes widening in horror. “Boy, if Lord Fen’Harel finds you here…”

“He is visiting Lavellan now. The Fade is his realm, but I can sense when the Wolf is near.”

“Would…” the agent hesitates, then finds the courage to ask. “Would he kill me if he knew what I want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Cole looks a bit sad now. “He wishes to see another way, but until it isn’t found and shown to him, he will continue along this road. He thinks he must.”

“Alright.” the agent murmurs slowly, then takes a deep breath. He asks: “So… where should we start from?”

“The Inquisition that is not Inquisition anymore is looking for allies, but you already know this.” Cole starts playing with his fingers. “Mages and scholars and warriors who can study the Veil and its effects, people Solas doesn’t know. You can’t do much, but you can discover more now that the walls welcomed you again.”

“I will do my best.” the agent grins, excitement growing into him. “Anything else?”

“The most important thing, yes.” A brief pause, then Cole’s smile broadens and it looks like a little sun. “We should heal their hurt!”

The agent blinks at him in surprise and confusion and opens wide his arms, in a defeated gesture.

“How? He won’t talk to her, let alone to me! He would never listen to me, I am not…” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, boy. It’s not easy to speak with Lord Fen’Harel when you are just… me.”

“You could become his friend.” the spirit tilts his head. “You can be Lavellan’s friend too. That would make things easier.”

“Lady Lavellan is… different.” the man blushes. “She is more… open. Optimistic. _Cheerful_.”

“He can be too.”

“Lord Fen’Harel?” the agent shakes his head with an incredulous, sad smile. “I never heard him laugh. His smiles are full of sorrow and pain. I can’t heal that.”

“Me neither. But Lavellan can and we must help her.” the spirit turns to the horizon again and his voice gets the lulling cadence it had before: “Chuckles in the snow, carried by the wind. Chuckles in front of a fire, an amused sound caused by jokes and innocent questions. Chuckles echoing in the rotunda, when the Inquisitor stares at the frescoes with wonder. Chuckles warming her rooms, hearts light and filled with love.”

The agent holds his breath; he now remembered the nickname his lord was given during his time in the Inquisition. His friend told him about it, years ago, howling with laughter.

He forgot about it. He knows the Wolf used to laugh and smile more in the Inquisition, everyone knows it, but he can’t relate that nickname to someone like him.

“Varric gave it to him.” Cole intervenes and the agent narrows his eyes, pretty sure that he can also read his mind. “Solas is Fen’Harel and he is also Chuckles. One is a title given to him by his enemies, but he doesn’t like it anymore. The other is a nickname given to him by a friend. He wants to hear it again.”

“I can’t call him Chuckles!” the agent babbles, appalled, and Cole nods in agreement.

“You are right, only Varric called him like that. That was his thing, not yours. But you could call him Solas.”

“That’s…” the man tries to imagine himself doing it, but all he sees is Fen’Harel’s shock and his frown as he tells him to never do that again.

“He is my lord.” he says in the end. “And the Inquisitor is my lady. I can’t treat them without deference.”

“They don’t want your deference.” Cole replies, observing him with curiosity, as if he can’t understand why he said that. “They never wanted to lead armies, they never wanted to command others. They want to give wisdom and peace, not orders.”

The agent shakes his head, but doesn’t respond, looking down at his healthy, unharmed legs.

Moments of silence pass, then Cole speaks again: “You were about to bring frilly cakes to Lavellan, to give her a message. It was a good idea. You should do it.”

“It was?” the agent beams up at him, then his face falls. “Won’t she understand there is a spy in the base, though? What if she looks for me and throws me out?” His voice softens, his eyes full of guilt. “What if I hurt her? Even the cook said she doesn’t dare bring her frilly cakes anymore.”

“Sweet and small, Solas loves them. His eyes lighten up when he sees them on his desk and he eats them like a child, enthusiastic and smiling, cheeks flushed. Chocolate on his lips as he kisses her, hands sticky with frosting as she cups his face. He is happy, so she is too.”

“S-Stop!” the agent babbles, looking down, his whole face red. “Don’t tell me these things! It’s their private stuff!”

“Your friend told you many things about them and you always listened.”

“That’s…!” Grumbling, the agent glares at the ground, ears burning, as Cole laughs softly and continues: “She will understand, yes, but she won’t find you if you are cautious. You can be a messenger again.”

“And what should I do with Lord Fen’Harel? I can’t send him frilly cakes. He would…” the agent stops and shrugs, sighing. “I don’t even know what he would do.”

“Maybe you can send him something else.” Cole is smiling again now and the agent knows that their conversation is over. “Their love is strong, pure, and will win. They only need time and a little push. We can help.”

He looks behind his shoulders and for a terrifying moment the agent expects to see the Wolf appear. But the horizon is clear, empty except for the fields, and Cole says slowly: “I will keep talking with him. I won’t stop insisting.”

“Do…” he knows this is not his business, but the agent can’t stop from asking: “Do you talk with Lady Lavellan too?”

“Yes. She needs reassurance, comfort. Solas needs hope and the reminder that he is not alone. _Var lath vir suledin_.”

Another pause, then Cole smiles brightly at him and for a moment he looks all the age his appearance gives him.

“Thank you for helping me doing this! It’s been so hard until now, all by myself!”

The agent waves his hand dismissively, hoping his blush hasn’t returned. It feels weird to have an ally in this operation, in this mission whose main objective is to reunite two lovers. He felt hopeless and stupid during the past months, but now that this spirit - Cole - is with him, he thinks he can actually do it, that it’s not something so hopeless after all.

“Alright!” he then exclaims, hands on his hips, a full smile on his lips even if he’s about to wake up soon and his legs will be ruined and broken. “I will see you later, I guess.”

“Yes. I will tell you how it went. Rest, get used to your new legs, but don’t hate them. They carried you so far, they will keep doing it. Don’t stop loving them.”

Cole’s face and voice become serious, but kinder too.

“If you need me, call me. I will came, my name echoing in the Fade, a request for Compassion, a question for Cole.”

And with that, he is gone and the dream ends.

 

\- - - -

 

The agent wakes up slowly and for a moment he doesn’t recognize the place. Then the painful throbbing coming from his legs reminds him what happened and he closes his eyes, bracing himself for the coming hours, for the coming days when he will have to take off the bandages and see the damage.

He pulls the blanket up to his nose, refusing to move it, and drills a hole into the ceiling with his stare. There are not many other wounded in the infirmary and most of them are sleeping or reading to pass the time.

Judging by the light coming from the window, it’s midday and he can hear the bustling base all around him, through the walls, from the ceiling, beyond the doors.

Someone brought flowers - one bundle tied with a ribbon - and pastries. He recognizes the handwriting on the three different notes attached - the flowers are from the kind girl that brings food to the Inquisitor and from the guy who shared his meals with him; the pastries are from the cook and there is her round, grinning face drawn on her note.

Warmth invades his heart and a smile stretches his lips.

“Ah! You are awake!”

The healer approached the bed and is now smiling at him with fondness.

“You slept for two whole days, son.” the old man informs him and the agent nearly winces. Maybe the Wolf doesn’t know anything yet, but two days are still a lot. He needs to prepare himself for a future conversation with his lord.

“How… how are my legs?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. He sees it in the healer’s sad look, but doesn’t move the blanket yet.

“I did the best I could. You can still walk, but you won’t be able to run as well as before, if at all. As for fighting, it all depends on your style, but I suggest not to strain yourself.” the man shakes his head and concludes with a low voice: “They can’t take the same stress as before. Things won’t be the same anymore.”

The agent smiles - he doesn’t even know in what way - at those last words, but then reality hits him and he has to clear his throat to speak decently again: “Did… did the Inquisitor or Sister Leliana say something?”

“Only to take care of you and inform them as soon as you were awake.” The healer gestures at the door and says, heading to it: “I am going to call them. I am sure they have questions.”

He squeezes his shoulder and goes out, just as a smiling Scout Harding enters the room. She is bringing flowers too, big, colorful, and fragrant.

“Hello!” she says, cheerful as always, and finds an empty space on the bedside table. “Man, it’s so nice to see you awake! I brought you flowers the first day too, but you probably didn’t see them, since you were… you know… asleep.”

She laughs nervously and drags a chair next to the bed. Her expression is now anxious, worried, and she looks for discomfort and pain on his face. She finds only a smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asks and he shrugs.

“I am fine.” he says and he is almost surprised to find that it’s the truth. He tugs at the loose threads of the blanket, glancing at the shape of his legs beneath it every few seconds. “They don’t hurt as much as before.”

“The healer is an expert. He used a lot of magic and salves, I heard.”

Harding adjusts her gloves, fixes her wrinkled clothes as a comfortable silence falls between them. The agent sees dirt on her boots and shirt and asks:

“Have you been on a mission?”

“Oh, yes, but not far from here! I went looking for the Venatori who attacked you. The Inquisitor and Sister Leliana feared they might still be around.”

“Ah.”

An annoying weight settles on the pit of his stomach and the agent’s smile is a bit strained, lopsided now.

“They were a bunch of assholes.” he lies. “They ambushed me, then kept me alive only to show the Inquisitor how serious they are.”

“Bastards.” Harding’s voice cuts like glass and her eyes are equally sharp. “I swear we will find them. They will pay for what they did, I promise.”

The door opens again and the Inquisitor and Sister Leliana enters. The Divine is carrying a vase with a bouquet of Andraste’s Grace in it; the Inquisitor is wearing her mechanical arm, her cape fluttering behind her with every step she takes. She looks still tired, pale, almost younger, but her stride is strong, determined, her face as kind as ever.

The agent sits up, trying to make himself presentable; even if his clothes has been changed and he wears a clean linen shirt, he can imagine how bad and ill he looks.

“My lady!” he exclaims as the Inquisitor approaches the bed and smiles at him.

“Don’t move.” she says, motioning him to rest down again. “There is no need for such formalities.”

“How are you feeling?” Sister Leliana asks after smiling at Harding. She places her vase on the small table as the agent tells her the same thing he told the dwarf: “I am fine, Your Holiness. My legs still hurt, but not like before.”

“I am sorry.” the Divine says and she sounds and looks sincere, her eyes tender like a mother’s.

Harding gets up to let her or Lavellan sit on her chair, but the Inquisitor smiles, shakes her head, and pats her shoulder, making her sit down again.

She keeps standing next to the bed, while Sister Leliana leans against the wall, and the agent feels overwhelmed. He looks at his cracked knuckles, at his scratched fingers and rough skin, and waits for the inevitable stream of questions.

He remembers his conversation with Cole and suddenly feels stronger.

“Before passing out, you said that Venatori agents attacked you.” the Inquisitor starts softly. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes. They ambushed me.” he swallows, fully aware of the fact that Sister Leliana will investigate - if she hasn’t already - and analyze every word he says and how he says it.

“They were many and I wasn’t able to defeat them nor run away. They decided not to kill me and only hurt my legs to show you how powerful they are.”

He bets they would have really done something like that. The Venatori are known for their cruelty and craziness, after all, and his story is credible, one of the many that can be easily linked to the cult.

The Inquisitor, Sister Leliana, and Harding seem to think the same; the three women share a worried look, then ask him some more questions about the location, the number of men, and their equipment.

He remembers the details he prepared before maiming himself and answers without hesitation, only pretending to think for a few seconds.

The lie still burns him, but it’s necessary. He has to stay here. He has to watch over Lavellan and help her change the Wolf’s mind.

After the last question, she smiles at him again and thanks him, assuring him that he will stay in the organization and his sacrifice and hard work won’t be forgotten.

“If… if possible, I’d like to stay inside this time.” he asks, showing a timid grin as he looks at the three women; Lavellan and Harding laugh, while Leliana’s lips quirk into a smile.

“You are clever and brilliant. I am sure we will find another job suitable for you.” the Divine says. “For now, though, you need rest and peace.”

“And food.” Lavellan intervenes, rummaging into her pockets until she finds a small, round package. “Here! Fresh bread straight from the kitchens.”

She hands it to him and he takes it, bowing his head; the bun of bread is warm and it smells divinely, like home, and he smiles at Lavellan, happy.

“Thank you, my lady!”

Later, when he is alone again and half bread has been eaten, he thinks about her kindness and wonders what Lord Fen’Harel will do, how he will react. He will know what really happened soon, unlike Lavellan, so the agent tries to picture his face and words, but in vain.

Lord Fen’Harel can be easy to read sometimes, but he is also a mystery, a man coming from another time and another world.

Still, Lady Lavellan understood and still understands him. She broke his walls, she is his heart and love.

Would he listen to him, if they became friends? Would he accept to hear his advice?

_‘Stop being a stubborn idiot and go back to her. She will help you find another way and everything will finally be fine.’_

The agent snorts, sure that would only earn him a new job as a statue. He thinks about Cole, his new friend who shares his same, delicate mission.

A limping elf and a spirit of Compassion trying to reunite two lovers. It sounds like a fairytale or one of those epic novels written by the Viscount of Kirkwall.

The agent doesn’t feel like a hero, though. He doesn’t care about that stuff, he only ever wanted one thing in his life: peace, peace and freedom, and he was sure the Wolf could give them to him and to every elf in Thedas.

Lady Lavellan wants the same, but she wants it for everyone too and the agent agrees with her most. He would miss Harding, the cook, the girl who carries the tray, the man who shared his meals with him.

His legs throb and he hisses, glaring at them even if they are still covered by the blanket.

The sun is still high in the sky, but all the other patients are sleeping and the healer is busy at his desk. The agent looks around one last time, then slowly lifts the blanket, holding his breath.

The bandages are many, thick, bloody in multiple points. They cover his entire legs, up from his thighs down to his ankles. He remembers each of those wounds and slowly, gently, brushes his fingers against his left leg.

The raw flesh reacts immediately and he flinches, moving his hand back on his lap, a thoughtful expression on his face.

He doesn’t feel like crying anymore; there are only a burning resolution, a desire to do good and fix things in his heart now.

He puts the blanket back on his legs and takes the bread on the bedside table, munching it with gusto as he watches the clear sky visible from the window.

He is ready to meet the Wolf now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shipping Agent and Cole are gonna be BFF.


	5. Chapter 5

The agent starts to recover without problems, but he is still forced to stay in bed, his legs too weak to support his weight.

He tries to distract himself from the pain and itching by reading the books Harding finds for him, by talking with the other wounded people that are in the infirmary, by watching the sky outside the window.

His friends often visit him and Harding stays with him too when she isn’t busy, always bringing a new tome for him to read or stories she heard.

The Inquisitor comes too.

She goes to the infirmary whenever she can, to thank the messengers and agents hurt during their missions, to make sure they are alright and have everything they need. He heard about this in his first days in the organization. He still remembers his own surprise when he learned about it.

It’s another small, but relevant detail that makes him respect her, that makes her people love her. She is a caring and selfless leader and even if her eyes are always tired, she finds the time to stay with her soldiers and give them comfort.

The Wolf does it too, but his method is different: he visits his agents’ dreams and changes them into beautiful childhood memories, chases away the nightmares, soothes their fears. He is a reassuring presence in their sleeping minds, often unnoticed, and only when they awaken they realize what he has done.

But his intervention is not familiar and practical like the Inquisitor’s; he keeps his distance and does not visit his soldiers in the infirmary; he doesn’t sit next to their bed and speak with them; he doesn’t bring them food nor books, only good dreams and happy memories.

He is a good leader too, but his pain, the terrible weight on his shoulders, and his otherworldly nature make him a faraway shadow no one can reach, not a real, warm figure like Lavellan is.

The agent recalls a bittersweet scene from when he still worked in the Wolf’s base. After recovering from a bad wound, one of his companions personally went to their lord to thank him for the visit in his feverish dreams.

Some agents did that, overcoming their intimidation and deference to thank the Wolf; that man did it with more cheerfulness, less restraints, maybe because he was new and he still didn’t feel the same deep-rooted awe the others felt when standing in front of the Wolf.

Fen’Harel’s smile upon hearing that spy’s thanks was sad and he kept listening to his grateful words in silence, uncomfortable and embarrassed. In the end, he awkwardly patted the guy’s shoulders and dismissed him, going back to his desk with a dark, lonely expression. As if he didn’t feel to deserve those words.

That memory is still fresh in the agent’s mind and he often thinks about that event as he watches Lady Lavellan grins at her people and jokes with them, as she accepts their thanks with a nod and a smile. She even plays Wicked Grace with them when her duties let her; she listens to their tearful confessions and stories until the sky is dark and only candles lighten the room.

She is one of them and now that she is not Inquisitor anymore - even if many still consider her that -, now that there are no nobles to impress and alliances to win at all costs, now that the organization she leads is smaller, she can let herself go and finally do what she wants with her time. She is a young and humble Dalish woman and the agent’s friend often told him how confused, scared, and tired Lavellan was during her time as Inquisitor.

“Lord Fen’Harel and her friends help her, though. They are her greatest support.”

Her friends still help her and even though the Wolf is far now, the agent knows he still is what most keeps her going, their love the eternal fuel she needs to stay strong and not give up.

So he pretends to be asleep when she visits the other patients, so that he can watch her and study her: he pulls the sheets up to his face and observes her through half-closed eyes, curious to see what she will do this time, what she will tell to her soldiers and messengers.

She is kind and patient, always ready to help and listen; she has a big heart and she gave it to the Dread Wolf, the greatest gift that poor man ever received.

 

\- - - -

 

The day after her first visit, she brought the agent a book; it was written in Common, but there were some Elvhen phrases in it too and the agent found them as he flipped the pages. He tried to translate them, despite his knowledge of the language was mediocre at best, but could do it only with the Inquisitor’s help.

“I am sorry.” he said, mortified. “I started learning it late.”

“Don’t worry.” she smiled, bright like a ray of sun. “I had some difficulties with it too in the past.”

Knowing perfectly the answer, the agent asked: “Who taught you, my lady?”

Lavellan’s smile became softer and nostalgic as she looked out of the window and replied: “Solas. We used to sit on the couch in the rotunda or lie down on our bed and start reading.” Her smile broadened and she looked down at the jawbone on her chest. “He was patient and always tried to play.”

“… Play?”

“Yes!” she laughed, looking back at him, eyes shining like two stars. “He would write words for me to translate; at first they looked like serious sentences, but in the end I always found out they were sweet, cheesy words of love.” She giggled, cheeks red, and looked away again. She looked even younger.

 

The idea of his lord writing mushy love phrases bemuses him, it nearly makes his brain hurt, but the love in Lavellan’s eyes as she recalled that scene is undeniable.

The agent still thinks about that. The sight of her flushed face, happy eyes and smile is burned into his mind, a precious reminder of what she and Fen’Harel had and still can have.

 

\- - - -

 

One week passes since his return to the base and the agent knows the Wolf will soon visit him. The news of his ‘incident’ must have reached him by now, but he is calm, almost serene. He is back where he is most needed.

Cole visits him once during that week, telling him of his last encounter in the Fade with Fen’Harel. The Wolf is as stubborn as always; he listens to Compassion, but he also _doesn’t_ and in the end he always retreats back into his pain and the empty, cold wasteland that his duty is.

“There is hope in him, though, and that is important.” Cole says before the dream ends. “We need to act. You can move and do things in Lavellan’s base. Please tell your legs to get better soon!”

The agent wants to remind him that he can’t actually do that, but he wakes up abruptly and is left alone with his bandaged, itching legs, his grumbles, and his glares directed at the ceiling. He hates being unable to move and do things. He hates feeling useless and there are so many ideas swirling in his head, so many plans and little tricks he could use to make the situation better, that his bed is slowly turning into a prison.

Finally, the night after the spirit’s visit, the Dread Wolf comes into his dreams.

He looks more exhausted than ever, if that’s even possible. Almost _drained_ and for a moment the agent thinks that he is the one who really needs a healer and lot of rest.

“I read your message.” the Wolf starts, then a shadow passes over his face. “I admit I was disappointed and worried, at first. I was about to infiltrate another agent in…” he stops abruptly and takes a deep breath before continuing: “… in her base. But then I received news of your incident.”

The agent tries to ignore the fact that the Wolf can’t seem to pronounce Lavellan’s name without breaking down; he sighs, because this will need _much_ work, and responds: “I am sorry, sir. I thought it was the only thing I could do to remain in the base. I was going to stay in the Free Marches for a month or more. I had to do something.”

Fen’Harel’s expression turns sorrowful, regretful, guilty, ashamed, different shades of pain color his eyes, and the agent feels bad. Very bad.

“I am sorry too.” the Wolf murmurs, shaking his head. “I did not want this. I never wanted my agents to sacrifice so much for our… for _my_ cause.”

“You didn’t order me to maim my legs, my lord.” the agent says with kindness. For a moment, he feels like the wise one, even if he is nothing more than a simple, poor elf born in a slum.

Lord Fen’Harel looks down at the cold ground of this dream, quiet, and the agent sighs.

“I could have stayed in the Free Marches and let you send another man in Lady Lavellan’s base, while continuing my work as a spy among the Divine’s agents. I didn’t. I decided to find another way to follow your orders and I found it on my own.”

“Because I told you to protect her no matter what. That her safety was priority above anything else.” Fen’Harel retorts coldly, his rage directed at himself, eyes narrowed.

The agent shrugs and shakes his head, replying: “I would have done that even if you hadn’t told me to, my lord. I know how much Lady Lavellan is important to you and I don’t want to see her hurt either.”

Fen’Harel looks at his legs now; as the agent suspected, his mind mirrored reality in this dream and they are bandaged, still a bit bloody. He can stand without difficulty, though, and the discrepancy between the poor state of his legs and the absence of pain makes him feel dizzy.

“I am sorry.” the Wolf repeats. His tone truly sounds sad, even if he keeps standing with his hands clasped behind his back, retreating further into his shell. “And I am not at the same time. I cannot express fully how much I am saddened by your sacrifice, but I also cannot condemn it. You did it to keep protecting _her_ and her safety is…” he inhales and exhales slowly, then concludes, fire in his eyes, his gaze intense and overwhelming again: “It is what most counts.”

The agent knows this and he nods, respecting his lord’s wish and sincerity. He can see how grateful he is, but also the relief and satisfaction badly hidden on his face, and he accepts it all.

He is _happy_ , because it means the Wolf loves Lavellan more than anything else, more than himself and his own values, and would do anything to see her safe. How has he not gone insane yet, torn between this endless love for her and the duty he feels so chained to?

Maybe he has, the agent thinks in the end, noticing once again how lifeless his lord’s eyes are, how dark the circles under them are, how pale he is.

He tries to change topic, to talk about the Inquisitor herself; he says, his tone softer than before: “They will find me a job inside the base, my lord. Sister Leliana wants to make me work with correspondence again, but I was hoping for a job in the kitchen. I always managed to slip more food into the Inquisitor’s tray every time I was there.”

The Wolf’s eyes light up.

“Did she eat it?”

“Er…” the agent blushes and lets out a nervous laughter; this time he is the one who prefers to look at the ground. “Not exactly. I think she _tasted_ the soup once, because it looked slightly different when it came back, but…”

He sheepishly looks back at Fen’Harel and sees him frowning.

“She will fall ill this way.” the Wolf murmurs, then passes a hand over his face, resting it on his forehead, as if he is trying hard to find a solution. The agent never saw him do that and stares at him with wide eyes. It’s such a natural, common gesture that it looks almost wrong done by Fen’Harel.

Then his lord straightens his back and the look in his eyes is almost hypnotic. There is determination and great seriousness in them, as if they are going to plan an important strategy or some other complicated mission to further their plan.

Instead, the Wolf tells him of food.

“She likes sweet and hot dishes. Not too spicy, but you may want to add spices to entice her. Avoid anything sour.”

For a moment, his serious expression turns into something brighter and the tiniest of smiles curls his lips. He seems to be recalling something, then he says softly: “She loves berries. Any kind, as long as they are sweet. She told me she used to eat them a lot in her clan and they remind her of it.”

Fen’Harel’s smile finally blooms and he looks up at the golden fields visible in the distance. His cheeks are red and his eyes full of love, warmth, tender recollections of days gone, but still alive inside him.

“Once, a noble from Orlais angered her deeply. She spent the whole night fuming, then she went to the kitchens, ire fueling her hunger.” he chuckles, the sound a mix between an actual chuckle, a snort, and a giggle. The agent nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise.

“She found a bowl of red berries and took it to our… her quarters. She began to eat them all, while grumbling and cursing at that annoying noble. Her hands were soon red and sticky and there were deep crimson streaks around her mouth and on her face. When I arrived and saw her like that, I thought she had killed someone with her bare hands.”

That chuckle-snort again, which the Wolf can’t stifle even with his fist pressed on his mouth, then he concludes: “She was so furious! She told me what the noble had done and said, then curled in bed and refused to let me go.”

His smile becomes sad, now, and the agent sees tears in his eyes. “She held my hand and my sweater the whole time and when she saw the red juice she had left on them, she blushed and…”

The Wolf blinks, like awakening from a dream, and turns to the agent, confused and almost shocked by himself.

“Why am I telling you this…?”

 _‘Because you are lonely and desperately need someone to talk with.’_ the agent respectfully looks down, awaiting his lord’s next words. He feels anything but calm, though.

_‘Where is Cole? He would be perfect for this! Doesn’t Lord Fen’Harel talk about these things with him too?’_

Then he realizes that the spirit probably knows those stories or can read them in Fen’Harel’s mind and soul, following the bittersweet pain those memories cause. The agent doesn’t know how the spirit boy speaks with the Wolf nor what he tells him, how he insists that he listens.

Perhaps, just this time, Fen’Harel also needs a person in the flesh who can listen to him and not only a person made of… whatever spirits are made. Fade? Ether? Emotions? The agent doesn’t know and every time he starts thinking about those things his head hurts, so he better stops now.

His lord clears his voice and speaks again, distant and cold once more.

“Do your best to be assigned to the kitchens. Slip herbs and tonics into her food and drinks, anything to make her feel better.”

“I already managed to do that, sir. I will continue to do so.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence falls between them, the silence of a kind leader who is forced to do terrible, painful things to the world and himself, who hardened his heart to a cutting edge and screams and cries from the inside all the time.

The agent smiles, trying to lighten up the mood, and says: “If you don’t need me anymore, my lord, I would… go. Wake up.”

“Yes.” Fen’Harel hesitates for a second, then says with sincerity: “Thank you. I appreciate what you are doing.”

“I can do more than this, sir.” the agent blurts out, unable to stop himself and his damn tongue. He has said it now, though, and he can’t go back, not even if the Wolf is looking at him with wide eyes.

“I… I mean…” Honesty is the best approach. He can’t hide what he is thinking now that Fen’Harel understood there is something wrong, so he must say the truth.

“Lady Lavellan wants to see you, my lord. She… she makes things for you, but she doesn’t know how to give them to you.”

Fen’Harel is shaking and the light in his eyes is dangerous: it’s the look of a cornered and wounded animal that is ready to attack to desperately defend himself. Cold shivers run down the agent’s back and the landscape starts to change, the colors in the dream begin to get dim, the air feels heavy even if it’s not real.

“No.” the Wolf says, his voice hoarse and too deep, too cold.

“My lord, she is hurting! She often cries and even if you visit her dreams…”

He realizes he shouldn’t have said that too late. The look in Fen’Harel’s eyes changes again and this time the agent instinctively backs off. His lord is a Dreamer. If he wanted, he could hurt him in his dreams or worse.

Would he kill him, if he pushed him too far? If he said too much? If he insisted? He is not his friend, he is only an agent, and he heard the rumors about Felassan, he heard that the Wolf had to kill him.

But that was then, a few months after the Wolf’s awakening, when he still didn’t know and respect the modern Thedas. Things are different now. Fen’Harel has seen and known this new world, he lived in it for years, he found _love_ in it.

He wants to spare it now.

Cole’s words echo in the agent’s mind - _there is another way, Lavellan can find it, and Fen’Harel wants her to show it to him_ \- and he feels brave.

“How do you know that I visit her dreams?” the Wolf asks, eyes wide with rage, suspicion, but also something that the agent can’t quite recognize.

“Most of the times, she sleeps peacefully thanks to your interventions, but sometimes she cries and calls your name at night, begging you not to walk away. Everyone in the base knows she dreams of you, sir.”

Fen’Harel’s lips are pale, set into a tight, straight line, and his shoulders are shaking. He looks at the horizon and tears are back into his eyes. He is quickly losing control, the same man who never does, the same man who always keeps everything accurately bottled inside, who surrenders himself to pain only when alone and too overwhelmed to fight it back.

“Why don’t you try to speak with her?” the agent gently insists, wringing his hands. “She would turn and see you, my lord, and you would see the jawbone pendant she always wears. You would see her face.”

“This does not concern you.” Fen’Harel murmurs, refusing to meet his gaze, and the agent nearly snarls.

_‘It does, you stubborn idiot!’_

“You could try, just once.” he says instead, doing his best to keep his voice even and controlled. “You would make her happy. You would feel better, too, and…”

“I would hurt her again.” Fen’Harel interrupts him. He looks at the agent, his eyes shimmering with tears, and shakes his head. “I cannot bear the thought of hurting her again.”

“But…!”

“I am too weak not to enter her dreams and see her even if from afar. But that’s it. I cannot do more.”

“My lord, if she truly found another solution, you two could…”

“And what if she does not find this other solution?” Fen’Harel smiles and it’s the most heart-wrenching thing the agent has ever seen. “What if there is not another way? We would spend moments of bliss together which would turn painful and cruel in the end, once we realize there is no other path. Then I would be forced to leave her again. I would lose her, I would see her _die_ , and…” The Wolf stops, swallows his tears, shakes his head.

“I do not want to make her suffer more. She does not deserve it. She did not deserve any of this.”

“Sir, I believe there is another way. I believe Lady Lavellan can find it.” the agent wants to step forward and clasp his arm to reassure him; he wants to do something, anything, to soothe even a little the Wolf’s panic and fears.

Cole said Fen’Harel has hope. Why does he lose it constantly in the sea of hurt he is drowning in since millennia, only to find it again for a little time? This is no way to live. If he continuously shifts from hope to deep despair every few moments, then he is really going to lose his mind.

Then the agent realizes what torments him so: the Wolf is _scared_ of hoping, scared of believing everything will go right only to lose everything in the end. He is scared of letting himself go and stay with Lady Lavellan, because if her other solution doesn’t exist, then…

But it exists, the agent knows it now. Fen’Harel needs to see progresses, not in his cause, but in Lavellan’s; he needs to remember, once and for all, that their love can do this.

“So what are you going to do now? Join her forces?” Fen’Harel asks with a wry, amused smile, almost fatherly, and the agent snorts.

“No, sir.” he says and it’s the truth. He is on both their sides. “I will continue keeping an eye on their activities, while watching over Lady Lavellan… but in my own way.”

A pause, then Fen’Harel sighs and finally relaxes. The dream slowly goes back to normal and the agent can breathe easily again, as if a tight grip on his chest has been removed.

“We shall speak of this no more.” the Wolf said, turning his back on him. He wants to avoid another argument, another discussion which may actually help him, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Take care, my friend.” he says, looking at him from above his shoulder, a steel blue eye drilling a hole into his very soul. “And thank you again.”

Before the agent can say something, the dream ends and the first thing he sees is the dawn coloring with pink hues the healed sky.

 

\- - - -

 

Two days later, he can finally stand up again. Every inch of skin, every muscle, every tendon of his legs hurts and aches, but he feels like puking at the idea of staying in bed another day and begs the healer to help him walk again, if not well, at least decently enough to work.

Magic, salves, and bandages drenched in healing concoctions soothe the discomfort and even though every step sends a jolt of pain up his spine, he grits his teeth and heads to Sister Leliana’s office with fierceness.

Along the way, he meets the girl who brings food to the Inquisitor; she hugs him and even starts crying, relieved to see him standing again. The man who shared his food comes too, then Harding appears out of nowhere, and soon the agent loses his breath into a bone-crushing hug with many, different arms.

Harding offers to accompany him, but he kindly declines, and when he is free to go again - with the promise that he will join everyone at dinner -, he keeps going, slow, hissing and grunting, but smiling nonetheless, his heart light and content.

He has to stop when he reaches a mirror hanging on a wall; he almost doesn’t recognize himself and spends some minutes to discover what has changed on his face.

His olive skin look thinner, almost papery, and his green eyes look even bigger now that his cheeks are so gaunt. Elves tend to be lean and lithe, but he is positively _scrawny_ now, a body crafted by illness, fatigue, and a lot of blood loss. Even his lips are cracked.

He looks older - he is not young anymore, that’s true, but he never looked so… _aged_ before, not even after the hardest mission.

He sulks, suddenly self-conscious; he never cared for his looks that much, but it’s unsettling to see such a big change. Maybe the stress is also the cause.

_‘Those two will make me go crazy if they don’t get back together soon.’_

He walks - limps - away from the mirror, leaning on the wall with a hand to better support himself and not put all his weight on his legs.

He reaches Sister Leliana’s office and, after knocking and being allowed to enter, he steps into the room proud and dignified, back straight, knees firm, forehead sweaty.

“Maker!” Sister Leliana exclaims, getting up from her desk with a huge smile. “I am so happy to see you! Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, Your Holiness.” he says, bowing his head. “I can’t still walk perfectly, but at least I can move again. I am ready to get back to work.”

“So soon? Are you sure?” Leliana sits back, a worried expression on her delicate face, and shakes her head. “You know you can wait, right? There is no hurry.”

The agent smiles and nods, assuring her that he is fine.

“I need to be active again, Most Holy. I can’t stay in that bed any longer and my legs will get better if I use them. The healer confirmed this.”

The healer did _not_ say that, but he doubts Sister Leliana has the time to go ask him such a small, insignificant detail.

“Very well.” she smiles back. “As I mentioned days ago, you can take care of the correspondence once again. You will organize and catalogue it with another agent.”

It would be the perfect way to know more about their plans and activities, to discover if they need any help, any new lead, any contact in particular. But he is resourceful and he will find what he needs to know in other ways. Cole will help him too.

So he shakes his head and says: “I am sorry, Your Holiness, but I’d like to be assigned a much different task. I believe I would be way more useful in the kitchens.”

“In the kitchens? You?” Sister Leliana gasps. “Are you quite sure? It would be… such a waste.” She even grimaces saying so, but the agent, even if flattered, laughs and shakes his head again.

“I am sure. The cook needs an assistant and I know how to prepare many dishes.” he becomes serious and plays his next card. “Also, I know some recipes that may convince Lady Lavellan to eat decently again.”

Sister Leliana hums, pleasantly surprised, then asks softly, her voice a bit sad: “You noticed it too, then.”

“I spent much time in the kitchens before my incident. The cook is a good friend of mine and we talked about the Inquisitor’s… lack of appetite.”

“She requests only fruits and water, sometimes meat, but she never eats it all. Yes, I know.” the Divine sighs, resting her chin on her hand, her worried gaze moving across the room. “As the days pass, she gets paler and frailer. She works too much and does not take care of herself at all.”

A weak smile curls her lips. “She reminds me of myself, when I still was spymaster of the Inquisition. But my situation was different. I wasn’t trying to save both the love of my life and the world at all costs.”

Another sigh, then she smirks at him, satisfied and proud, and gets up, her palms pressed on the hard surface of her desk.

“Very well. If this is what you desire, you shall work in the kitchens. And if your recipes really can help our lady, then the Maker has blessed us with your presence.”

He bows again, inwardly roaring with joy, his heart beating fast, his cheeks hurting because he is trying so hard not to laugh ecstatically. The Divine glances down at the letters on her desk and hums thoughtfully. They are all addressed to the Inquisitor.

“I guess I will have to find someone else to take care of these, then.” she mumbles and he seizes that chance as well.

“Let me do it, Your Holiness. One last job as a messenger.” he shrugs, smirking. “For old times’ sake.”

“But the Inquisitor’s room…”

“Do not worry about the stairs.” he takes the letters before Leliana can say anything else and smiles. “Do you want me to say anything in particular to Lady Lavellan, Most Holy?”

“No.” she smiles in return and gestures at the door. “You may go. Thank you.”

The look they exchange is full of mutual respect and the agent leaves the room with a huge grin plastered on his face.

 

\- - - -

 

Said grin is gone when he arrives at the Inquisitor’s door. His legs are _screaming_ in pain, they burn and twitch, and he has to lean against the wall to catch his breath. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, he can feel it, and his neck is wet. He brushes back the brown locks of hair falling in front of his eyes - he will need to cut it soon - and painfully goes to the door.

He knocks four times, waits patiently, but receives no answer. He tries a second time, but again, Lady Lavellan doesn’t tell him to come in.

Maybe she is not in her room…?

He grabs the handle and slowly pushes the door, peeking inside. At first, he doesn’t see her and thanks the Maker - even if he doesn’t believe in Him - for that wonderful occasion. Then he notices her form slumped over her desk and stiffens.

She is sleeping, head resting on her right arm. She isn’t wearing her prosthetic left arm and the sleeve hangs loose, empty.

Doing his best to be as quiet as possible, the agent steps into the room and approaches the desk; he can see her better now and lets out a silent, worried sigh. She is truly pale, he can see tiny blue veins under the skin of her hand, and her long eyelashes are wet, tears still shimmering on them and staining the papers crumpled under her cheek.

There is a cute, half-made wolf on the desk. A needle and colored threads are neatly placed near its paws and a great melancholy and affection fill the agent. She tried to complete this one too, but he can see the point where she stopped, her mechanical arm still too complicated to use to craft things as small and delicate as this plush.

He sees that same arm too, laying abandoned at the other side of the room. It looks like she has removed it and thrown it away in a fit of rage and frustration; it’s unlike her to react like that, but it’s perfectly understandable, given her situation.

There are other wolf plushes scattered in the room, just as he remembered them, all incomplete, all waiting to be finished once she can move the metallic, fake fingers and overcome the pain her stump still causes her.

The agent places the letters on a corner of the desk and gently takes the plush, studying it. He smiles, because it’s sweet, cute, and identical to the many depictions of Fen’Harel he saw in the ancient ruins he visited, in the frescoes that decorate the Wolf’s base. It’s a romantic gift, but it also reminds him of something else, of another feeling, an innate emotion he can’t give a name to.

For a moment, he thinks that this plush would look good in the hands of a child too, then the idea goes away, gone as quick as it came.

He never sewed something like that before, but this is halfway done, so if he just follows Lady Lavellan’s lead, he should be fine.

Glancing at her with fondness one last time, he leaves the room, the wolf plush safely tucked inside his coat, ready to be completed and given to Fen’Harel.


	6. Chapter 6

The tanner beams at him like he is Andraste Herself.

“You recovered!” he exclaims happily, pulling him into a warm hug and patting his back; he draws back to observe him better and the agent smiles back at him, in his heart the same fluttering, content feeling he felt when his new friends hugged him.

He feels like a shadow, walking between two paths; he watches both sides, living and working in them to make things better, to make everyone happy, and all his friends, old and new, wave at him from their respective places.

Lavellan wants to merge those paths to make a new one that will unite everyone and he wants that too. The finished wolf plush inside his jacket is light, soft, and warm against his chest and it seems to agree.

Cole does too. He complimented him just the night before.

“That gift will make Solas cry.” he said. “But it will heal his hurt a little too.”

“Good.” the agent snorted. Sewing those thin threads while trying to follow the Inquisitor’s style hasn’t been easy, especially doing it in a single night, with only the light of a candle as companion. “I really hope my poor fingers didn’t have to go through that in vain.”

“Her arm hurts, but she tries the same. She wants to show him she isn’t afraid of the Wolf, that he will always be her _vhenan_ , no matter his form, no matter his reputation. She knows him. He is kind, loving, and selfless and the legends about him are wrong. Her fingers hurt, because they are not hers, fake and made of metal, runes, and magic, but she continues. This is a gift for her lover; hopefully it will keep him company.”

Those words still fill the agent with so much determination he feels like he can climb the Frostback Mountains, even with his maimed legs.

After the tanner has asked him how he is feeling and told him the last news about their plans, the agent pats the plush inside his jacket and says softly, pretending to be interested in what the other is selling in the courtyard:

“I have something for the Wolf.”

His friend hums, rearranging the leather pouches and belts on the table, then opens one bag, as if to show him how big it’s inside. The agent quickly stuffs the plush into it, careful not to push too hard, and closes the leather cover.

When he lifts his eyes, the tanner is staring at him, dumbfounded.

“What’s that?” he asks and the agent grins.

“Didn’t you see it? It’s a wolf plush. Lady Lavellan made it for him.”

“You…” the tanner glances with panic at the fortress, as if he’s expecting Lavellan to come at any moment. “You stole it from her rooms? Why?”

“Because she didn’t know how to give it to him.” the agent sighs, then sees one of Leliana’s spy out of the corner of his eye and hurries to study intently the belts. The spy passes by, greeting him with a nod of her head, and he returns the gesture with a wide smile. Once she is gone, he looks back at his friend, serious and determined.

“She has no idea there is an agent of Fen’Harel here, but she will understand soon. She makes things for him and I want him to receive them all.”

“You are insane! She will identify you without problems if you leave too many clues!”

The tanner grabs his forearm and shakes it, his voice a whispered hiss: “You will betray yourself this way. By the Void, why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s too _sad_ to see her like that.” the agent replies, freeing his arm and glaring at his friend. “She cries almost every night, calls for our lord in her sleep, refuses to eat. And I know for sure that Lord Fen’Harel acts the same way.”

He knows because Cole told him and judging by the way the tanner looks down at the table, in silence and with concern written on his young face, it seems the spirit is right.

“He never smiles.” the tanner says, voice low. “He spends his days inside his room or outside. Nobody knows where he goes, but he is quieter than ever when he comes back and every morning his face is terribly sad.”

He takes the bag where the plush is hidden and puts it in the back of his small booth, where nobody can see it nor try to buy it. As he turns back to the agent, his expression is grim, his lips curved into a grimace.

“Our plans are proceeding well, though. It’s clear he is not worried about our mission.”

“Told you.”

The tanner sighs and folds his arms; he looks exasperated, not fully convinced, but there is tenderness in his eyes, as if the sight of that plush softened him.

“She will discover you, my friend, and then you will have to leave. You will ruin everything you worked for.” His eyes glances down at the agent’s legs for a moment. “I understand why you are doing this and it’s a noble pursuit, but it won’t last long.”

“She won’t say anything. She will keep making gifts and waiting for me to take them.” the agent replies and there is so much confidence in his voice that his friend blinks, surprised, and shakes his head.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just can feel it.” the agent grins, thanking Cole for his reassurances; then pats his friend’s shoulder and adds: “Don’t worry, it will work! Just make sure to give that to Lord Fen’Harel, alright?”

For the first time since they started that discussion, the tanner smiles and looks behind, at where the bag is hidden.

“I think it will make him happy. Maybe we will finally see his face light up a bit… of course he will hide all his emotions behind his mask, but I am sure it will crack this time.”

“I am glad you agree. Next time you come here, be ready for more.” the agent turns to observe the old walls of the fortress and smiles at the Inquisitor’s windows. “I believe she will make me find much more stuff.”

 

\- - - -

 

As he expected and as Cole told him, Lady Lavellan immediately suspects that something is wrong.

That afternoon, he hears her ask Leliana if she has gone into her room; the Divine denies with a surprised expression, then asks her - with a completely different tone - if there is something amiss.

“No.” Lavellan replies with a broad smile. “It was mere curiosity. I found new letters on my desk, so I thought…”

Leliana informs her that she has indeed sent _him_ to deliver those missives and the agent, hidden behind the door left ajar, swallows. He can see Lavellan’s face from here and he studies her expression, her reaction: if Cole is right, then she won’t say a word about the missing plush. Otherwise, he is busted.

He straightens his back, believing in his lady and his new friend.

Lavellan blinks, then hums, thoughtful, and says slowly: “I see.”

Her smile quickly returns before the Divine can ask more and she says: “Well, I am glad to hear he is feeling better now!”

Her tone is sincere, but in her voice there is also a hint of… euphoria, pure elation. She is beaming, her cheeks are pink, her smile bright, almost goofy, and when he meets her in the fortress later, she stops and stares at him for a long moment.

“My lady.” he greets her with a bow of his head, his face an unreadable mask, his tone polite. She doesn’t reply, studying him with an intensity similar to the Wolf’s, and he almost grins. He knows she is suspecting something, but Cole warned him: she will want to be sure before leaving other gifts around, so he just needs to wait.

For now, she kindly tells him she is happy to see he has recovered and asks him what he is doing now.

“From today, I’ll work in the kitchens, my lady. I am the cook’s assistant.”

“Oh?” she looks surprised for a moment, then smiles. “I suppose I will taste new dishes soon, then.”

“I know some special recipes, yes. The cook granted me permission to try them and I hope you will like them.”

“I am sure I will.”

They fall silent and the agent still looks down respectfully, a hand on his chest. He can see Lavellan’s boots, dirty with soil and grass, her usual outfit, not as refined as the clothes he knows the Inquisition used to give her.

His friend told him the lady didn’t like to wear too rich stuff, but even the simplest clothes Lady Josephine ordered were expensive and too _polished_ for the Inquisitor’s tastes. Being able to wear this traveling outfit must be a relief for her now.

He also sees the jawbone pendant and a small, warm smile crinkles his lips. After his work here, his lord will finally be able to see it too when visiting her dreams. He will finally talk to her and she will turn and then…

“Did you enter my room yesterday?”

The agent jolts out of his reverie and looks up, babbling an affirmative answer. She narrows her eyes with a smirk and says slowly: “I found new letters on my desk. Leliana told me she sent you to deliver them.”

“Yes, my lady. One last job as a messenger before starting in the kitchens.” He shouts at his heart to calm down and adds with a rueful look: “Forgive me, Lady Lavellan. I knocked and I received no answer, so I opened the door. I should have slipped the letters under it and gone away.”

“No, it is no problem. I am so distracted these days that I would have simply walked on them without even seeing them.” Lavellan hesitates, then asks, her smile fading away, replaced by a serious and attentive expression: “Tell me, did you see a wolf plush on my desk when you placed the letters there?”

The agent has the decency to blink and pretend to think about it.

“No, my lady.” he replies in the end. “I don’t recall seeing anything like that there. But I left so quickly that I might have not noticed it at all.”

“I see.” Lavellan doesn’t seem disappointed. If she is really suspecting him, then she probably expected such an answer too. She continues to stare at him with that overwhelming intensity the agent is so used to and then asks: “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

He has to think about it for real this time. There are many things he wishes to tell her: how much Fen’Harel loves her, how much he desires to be helped, how much he wants to stay with her. He wants to tell her that she is right to hope, that she must not give up, that there many people who are rooting for her and Lord Fen’Harel.

He wants to tell her that their love can do this, because he knows she needs to hear it from someone else too, but it’s not the right time, so he shakes his head and answers: “No, my lady.”

She knows, though, he can see it in her eyes, and when she smiles, she does it with amusement and the same joy from before.

“Very well. I look forward to taste your recipes.”

She walks away, her right hand resting on the jawbone, and the agent limps to the kitchens with the grin he couldn’t show before and the wish to do good and work hard beating inside him like a second heart.

 

\- - - -

 

He knows the kitchens well at this point and it doesn’t take him much time to learn where all the herbs and ingredients are stored. He works well with the funny cook and his first day proceeds smoothly.

There is always the nagging thought of preparing a good meal for the Inquisitor at the back of his mind; he thinks about all the possible recipes as he makes food for the soldiers and agents of the base, as he fixes a quick snack for the Divine, as he sits down to rest his poor legs which are still aching.

The wounds are healing up, deep scars marring his skin like angry scratches. He doesn’t complain, though, and keeps cracking jokes with the cook and the occasional guests that come down to pay them a visit.

Evening comes and the tray for the Inquisitor finally needs to be prepared: the cook places it on the main counter and sighs, already knowing that the lady will eat only a few berries and one apple or pear.

When she sees what the agent is mixing inside a large bowl, her eyes widen, but she doesn’t question it. But when it’s clear what kind of dish he is making, she gasps and brings one hand to her cheek.

“You can’t be serious!” she exclaims. “She will never eat all of that!”

“She will.” the agent replies patiently. Cole told him that this will work.

“Something funny and sweet to make her laugh. She will understand, she will make you find more. She will also eat again, laughing and crying at the same time.”

“Giving her a Nug-Nug in a moment like this doesn’t seem… tactful.” the cook mumbles, worried, as she observes him mix the meat and add healing herbs into it.

“It’s not the Nug-Nug. It’s a… variation.” he can’t hold back his smug smile, now, and as he form the mixture into rounded ears-like shapes, the cook pales and shakes frantically her head.

“No! No, no, that’s even _worse_!”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

“You can’t give this to her, she will…”

“She will feel _better_.” the agent insists, smiling at the cook and patting her hand with his sticky one. “Now, could you please take the black rice simmering in that pot?”

He presses the meat ears onto two sticks and roasts them, then places them atop of the black rice that the cook has put inside a bowl like he instructed. Finally, he cuts two blue berries - which he tasted previously to make sure they are not sour - and uses them as eyes for the cute wolf peeking out of the bowl.

“She will cry. She will get mad. She will fire the both of us.” the cook babbles, staring at their little masterpiece with pride and horror mixed together. The agent is beaming like the Sunburst Throne.

“It’s perfect!” he giggles. “Don’t worry, she will love it! It’s what she needs to finally eat again!”

_‘This and knowing there is a spy of Fen’Harel who can reach him for her, of course.’_

They put a bowl of fried onions and more berries on the tray, then they carefully cover it, mindful of the ears impaled into the rice. The cook doesn’t stop mumbling how bad this idea is, then informs him that the girl who usually brings food to the Inquisitor caught a cold and is resting in the servants’ quarters.

“And if you think _I_ am going to bring this to Lady Lavellan, you better think twice, young man!” the cook exclaims, hands on her hips, frightening like a scolding mother. Fortunately, the agent has every intention of going up to Lavellan’s room, even if those stairs will make his legs hurt pretty bad.

So he beams at the woman and takes the tray, without even removing the apron he’s wearing.

“Don’t worry, I will take care of it. I need to walk more.”

“Tell her it was not my idea!” the cook begs, even following him out of the kitchens, hands entwined on her chest in a praying, anxious way. “I know I helped, but…”

“She won’t get mad, I promise!”

People turn to observe the funny scene and the cook refuses to approach the door leading to the Inquisitor’s quarters. She keeps saying that it’s a terrible idea and doesn’t move a muscle to help the agent open the door; Harding, who is in the hall and watched them, has to do it and before letting him pass, she asks him in a whisper: “Why is she so worried? What did you prepare?”

He gestures at the cloth covering the tray with his head and she lifts it; her mouth hangs open for a second, then she slowly puts the cloth back where it was and clears her throat.

“Divine Victoria will personally behead you for this, you know?”

“Maybe. She will need to learn about it first, though.”

He winks and proceeds, letting the door close behind himself.

The stairs make his legs ache as he thought, but he thinks of Lady Lavellan’s face upon seeing the food, her reaction when she will realize fully what’s going on, and that’s all he needs to keep going.

He stops for a moment when he reaches the corridor, letting the muscles of his legs relax; then he walks slowly to the door, making no sounds at all, and stops in front of it.

She is talking with someone.

“I told you, it was there when I fell asleep, I am sure! I left it on the desk, with the threads and needle next to it, but when I woke up it was gone.”

A second voice answers, distant, unintelligible, but clearly masculine. The agent holds his breath, trying to understand what it’s saying; he even presses his ear against the door, hoping it won’t creak, but Lady Lavellan speaks again.

“At first I thought it was Leliana, yes, but the only one who came here was one of her old messengers. She sent him to deliver some letters and he admitted to have entered my room and put them on the desk.” A pause, more of those distant words, then she exclaims: “Dorian, I swear, I am not going crazy! The plush was there before I fell asleep and then it was not! He must have taken it!”

Dorian! Dorian Pavus! She is talking with her old Tevinter friend! The agent heard she has a special crystal that allows her to speak with him despite the great distance, but he never saw her use it. She probably does it only in the quiet and private space of her room.

“I… I think I know why. He may be one of Solas’ spies and… and maybe he took the plush to give it to him! Everyone knows I’ve been trying to sew a good one for months. Dorian, it’s not that absurd if you think about it!”

Now Dorian’s voice is better audible - maybe Lavellan was standing far from the door, maybe she was holding the crystal into her hand - and the agent hears him say:

“I know you miss him, I know you want to reach him and talk to him desperately. I know that stubborn asshole doesn’t answer when you speak to him in your dreams, but…”

“Why would have that man taken the plush then? He knows what it represents. Why steal it from my room?”

Dorian sniffles indignantly and asks with a frustrated tone: “That’s the right question, my friend! Why should an agent of Fen’Harel steal a plush you made for him in the first place, risking to be discovered? If there is really a spy in your base, they would be more concerned with stealing information and plans, not trying to make you two reunite and squealing in delight while doing so!”

The agent scowls at the door.

A moment of silence, then Lavellan sniffles too, but this sound is different and it makes the agent’s blood freeze in his veins. It shocks Dorian too, because the human says, flustered and regretful: “No, no, my dear, don’t cry! I am sorry, it was rude and tactless of me. I did not mean to…”

“No, you are right. If that man is one of his agents, then he is here to learn our new strategies, not to support our love. Or maybe he is not even a spy, only an ordinary man who saw a good gift for his kids and took it. I don’t even blame him.”

She sniffles again and concludes, her voice small: “Perhaps I am just losing my mind and I will find that plush here in my room, hidden under all these books and papers.”

The agent never heard her talk like this, so normally, so… _at ease_. Her walls are not as huge and strong as Fen’Harel’s and she is always ready to joke, laugh, and smile with her people, but she never sounds so comfortable, but also so frail, so full of doubts and fears. Her mask is still the mask of the strong leader who must protect the world and she can’t let her soldiers see how much she is hurting.

His friend mentioned seeing her like this on multiple occasions while at Skyhold, but only now he can understand what she meant when she described how small and frail the Inquisitor looked like during those moments.

She sounds just like one of the people who are working on both sides of this war which isn’t a war; she sounds like Lord Fen’Harel did when the agent spoke to him last time, fearful and looking for reassurances, and the illusion of the two lovers being unreachable, mighty figures breaks.

“My friend.” Dorian sighs, worried and tender. “I’d do anything to be there with you right now, you know that, yes?”

“I do.” There is a smile in Lavellan’s voice now. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“Keep an eye on that guy. If he is Solas’ spy, then he may have information about his current location and that… that would be most wonderful. If he really took that plush…”

“I will see what I can do. I will keep you informed.”

“You better! Stay safe and, for the sake of my poor old heart, _eat_. Leliana told me you always leave your tray full.”

“The Divine should stop talking about the ex-Inquisitor in her letters to a magister from Tevinter. Can you imagine Thedas’ reaction?” Lavellan jokes and Dorian’s laughter echoes in her room and beyond it.

When silence falls behind the door, the agent does as the girl who brings food taught him: he goes all the way back to the start of the corridor and makes a lot of noise to let Lavellan know that he is coming.

When he is back at the door, he knocks four times and she says loudly: “Come in!”

She is not surprised to see him. She stares at him from her desk with the same intense look from that afternoon and he returns it with a wide smile.

“I brought dinner, my lady. The girl is ill.”

“I will send her those tarts she loves so much tomorrow.” Lavellan says and once again the agent is surprised by her selflessness and interest for her people. “Thank you. You may place that here.”

She nods at one empty spot on her desk and the agent does as he is told.

“I am curious to see what you prepared.” Lavellan smirks and he tenses up, holding his breath, as her hand reaches for the cloth and removes it.

She gasps and presses her hand on her mouth, eyes wide with awe and shock, cheeks pale. Then she springs up and turns to him, unable to let out the words pushing against her lips. There is doubt in her eyes - she doesn’t know whether to believe he is an agent of Fen’Harel or not -, but also hope, the strong desire to hear that he really is and can help her reunite with her lover.

“I am sorry, my lady.” the agent says softly, bowing his head. “I thought that a different version of the Nug-Nug could intrigue you and restore your appetite.”

“Is… is this a joke?” she babbles and for a moment rage flashes in her eyes. “What are you trying to do?”

“I just want to help.” the agent replies with sincerity, his voice and gaze soft, and then he tries to be clearer: “My lady, if there is anything you wish to tell me or give to me, please let me know and I will make sure to take care of it.”

She understands what he is referring to and her eyes move to an unfinished letter laying on her desk. He can’t read the words from this distance, but he can imagine the addressee. Maker only knows how many she has written before and was never able to send.

“Lady Lavellan, if you want I can…”

“No!”

She takes the piece of paper and holds it close to her chest, right on the jawbone pendant. There are tears in her eyes now and the agent feels bad. This is not what he expected! Cole said this would have worked!

Maybe he did something wrong, maybe he exaggerated, maybe he chose to do the wrong thing at the wrong time…

“If you really are who you are subtly saying to be, then give me proofs.” she says, holding back her emotions with admirable control. “Show me that you are not mocking me. For all I know, you may be merely pretending to be an agent of Fen’Harel, only to take everything I made for him and throw it away or keep it for yourself to play with my pain.”

“My lady, I would never…!”

“Bring me proofs.” she insists and even if he is taller and older than her, she seems to tower over him and he feels minuscule, just like when he is standing in front of the Wolf. “Bring me something that he made. If he really received what I sewed for him, then…”

The agent’s heart trembles, because he doesn’t know the Wolf’s reaction yet. Cole assured him that it will lessen his pain, but it’s unlikely that Fen’Harel will thank him for his intervention. He overstepped his boundaries, explicitly ignored his orders, and took care of things that did not concern him. The gift may help the Wolf, but he - the agent - is probably going to feel his wrath soon.

What is he going to tell him then?

_‘Excuse me, my lord, before you turn me into a statue, would you consider the idea of writing a romantic thank-you letter to your beloved Lavellan?’_

He swallows, returning the Inquisitor’s stare with all the strength and courage he can muster, and nods.

“If I provide you with proof, will I be allowed to stay here?”

“That… depends.” Lavellan says, even though it’s clear she wants to say ‘yes’. “If you really are Solas’ agent, then you have been stealing information from us all this time.”

He doesn’t answer and she sighs, slumping back into her chair, hand covering her eyes.

“He asked me to watch over you, my lady.”

“Stop!” she says, voice breaking, on the verge of tears. “If you are just a megalomaniac wishing to play with the mighty ex-Inquisitor, then your words are empty and ugly.”

The agent fidgets, hesitates, not wanting to see her like that; he only wants to fix what he can and finally see them happy. He is torn between the urge to tell her everything and mention Cole and the urge to listen to the wise thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

He chooses to do the latter and says: “I will give you a proof soon, my lady. I don’t know when exactly, but I will do my best.”

He walks - limps - to the door and looks back to see her watch the wolf in the tray with red eyes and wet cheeks. She looks younger than ever, awe, curiosity, tenderness, and pain in her gaze, and he feels bad, bad and wretched.

“He will talk to you, my lady.” he adds. “He will speak and you will turn and see him. Just wait.”

The last thing he sees before closing the door is her stunned expression; one hour later, she sends the tray back to the kitchens through a random servants. The bowls are empty and there is a small note inside the biggest one:

_It was all delicious! Thank you!_

The agent celebrates with the cook and their friends that night and soon rumors that Lady Lavellan has finally started eating again spread through the small fortress, causing another general celebration.

That night, as he heads to the rooms where he sleeps with the others, he is even stopped halfway by the Divine herself, who thanks him and congratulates his work. For a moment, he wonders if she suspects something too, but her eyes and voice are so sincere and she looks so relaxed, that it seems improbable.

He thanks her as well and makes sure to mention the cook and her efforts too.

His heart is light, despite that new task weighing over him, and he is sure that he will find a way to convince the Dread Wolf with Cole’s help.

So he calls the spirit as he serenely falls asleep, ready to find a solution with him. But he realizes something is wrong as soon as his dreaming mind shapes the dream around him. Everything feels heavy and he can barely breathe. The sky above his head is dark, there are no sounds, and he starts to shiver even if the air isn’t cold at all.

Then he _feels_ it, it runs down his spine like ice, and he turns abruptly.

The Wolf is there, glaring at him with his deep, steel blue eyes, and a snarl is curling his lips.

“You!” he said, his voice booming across the Fade. “What are you trying to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nug-Nug is a real recipe from World of Thedas 2! You can see the pages [here](http://i.imgur.com/PRc447E.jpg) and [here](http://40.media.tumblr.com/1fd0661c938d0448f629d98a2e60ca0f/tumblr_nmxx5ikrAM1u6tafjo2_500.png). In this case, I think the most appropriate name would be Wolf-Wolf.


	7. Chapter 7

The agent steps back and gasps, the sound echoing in the barren land that his dream has become.

The Wolf is staring at him, his eyes devoid of any warmth and understanding; he is only fueled by rage, incredulity, indignation, even panic.

His hands are closed into fists at his sides, shaking as if he has to use all his inner strength not to punch the agent in the face.

He will need much less than that to hurt him, the poor man thinks as Fen’Harel shouts: “Answer me!”

“I… I just wanted to help.”

It’s a lame and stupid reply, but it’s the best the agent could come up with. It’s the truth and he knows the truth is the best way to survive the Wolf’s rage.

Sometimes. He hopes this is one of those times.

“Help?” Fen’Harel repeats with cold irony. “What you are doing is helping _nobody_.”

“My lord…”

“Do you have any idea of what you have done?” Fen’Harel continues, his teeth gritted, his strides slow and menacing as he approaches the agent. He draws back again, feeling like a prey, an animal without escape that is going to be gutted alive by a predator. The Wolf always inspired awe, respect, a bit of fear in him, yes, but never this mind-numbing terror.

“Do you understand the consequences of your insane acts?” the Wolf suddenly lunges forward and seizes his wrist in a strong, almost painful grip. “You took that gift from her rooms, did you not? You stole it, knowing she made it for me, and sent it to me believing to do the right thing, to fix everything with a simple plush.”

“I…”

Fen’Harel shakes him, breathing heavily, his clothes disheveled, his face and lips pale; the agent has never seen him like this and he can’t help but stare, shocked by his lack of control, by the fury he can read in those eyes whose blue and gray are mixed like a stormy sea, thunders and lightning in them.

“This” the Wolf hisses, now grabbing his collar, “cannot be fixed easily, just like that.”

“I-I know, my lord.” the agent manages to say before it becomes hard to breathe. The air in this dream is stale and he feels dizzy. “I just wanted to show you-”

“Show me _what_?” For a moment Fen’Harel looks desperate and tears form in his eyes. Then they go away, pushed back by anger. “Show me that she still loves me? Show me that she still thinks about me? Do you really think I do not know that? Do you think I do not care about that and her pain?”

“I didn’t say that, sir, I only…”

“You ignored my orders. You deliberately interfered in something that did not concern you at all, disrespecting Lavellan, disrespecting me.” the Wolf growls, finally letting him go; the air is still heavy, though, and the agent wheezes and presses a hand on his chest. He can see his legs and this time they are ruined just like in the waking world.

“My lord.” he croaks out, part of him wishing to call Cole for help and let him explain the situation. He doesn’t want Fen’Harel to get angry with the spirit, though, and if the boy is right, then the gift managed to soothe the Wolf’s pain. Maybe he needs to focus on that to calm him down without being turned into a statue or killed in his sleep.

“My lord, I meant no offense. I only wanted to give you comfort and hope.” the agent looks up, sweat running down his temples. Speaking and breathing is getting terribly hard and the Wolf returns coldly his look, seemingly not caring for his discomfort.

“She put so much effort into that gift that I… that I couldn’t leave it there. She wants to reach you, my lord, but you do not let her.”

“I already explained the reason to you.” Fen’Harel interrupts him, eyeing him with disdain. “And you blatantly discarded it, preferring to handle this situation in a childish, hurtful manner.”

The agent bites his lips; he wants to tell the Wolf that she _knows_ , that she is waiting for a sign, a message, from him. But what then? Fen’Harel would become even more nervous, his panic would grew, and he would send him away from Lavellan’s base once and for all.

And she would remain there, alone, her only link with her lover shattered, believing to have been tricked, believing that her plush has been thrown away and that Fen’Harel never sent an agent to watch over her.

“Tell me, how did she react when she did not find her gift anymore?” the Wolf continues, his eyes two narrow slits that contain only anger, pain, and disappointment. “She is a brilliant woman. She must suspect something now.”

“She is also tired and distracted, my lord.” the agent replies with admirable calm, even if his lungs are burning and the weight on his chest too heavy. “I heard her speak with Sister Leliana about it, but in the end she gave up, sure to have lost it in the chaos that her room is. She suspects there might be someone involved in this, that’s true, but she doesn’t suspect _me_.”

Fen’Harel observes him carefully, most likely looking for any change on his face, any clue that might tell him he is lying. The agent isn’t able to return his look, but he stands tall despite the difficulty to breathe and his legs hurting even in the Fade.

A moment of silence long as an age passes, then the Wolf steps forward and leans in, an unsettling aura around him that makes the agent tense up and reminds him once again that his life is in danger.

“You shall speak to her no more.” Fen’Harel says, his voice a quiet murmur that finally doesn’t betray his emotions, and that’s terribly unsettling and even more frightening than anything he has done until now. “Avoid her, stay in the kitchens, and do not meddle in this business anymore. Watch over her from afar and collect information only when they are offered to you. We do not need to know what they are doing for now. Other agents have gathered enough details.”

Fen’Harel grabs his wrist and as the agent slowly moves his eyes to his face, looking at those steel blue eyes where he has put all his emotions, the Wolf concludes: “Do this or leave. Do this or return to my base. Should I discover that you betrayed me, I will have to kill you and I do not want to do that.”

“You don’t want to do many things, my lord, and yet you do them the same.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop his tongue, but it’s worth it, because the look on the Wolf’s face is priceless.

_‘If I am going to die now, then at least I will die seeing this expression.’_

“What?” Fen’Harel gasps - he _babbles_ , to be honest, and the disconcert in his eyes makes the agent feel brave again.

“You don’t want to avoid Lady Lavellan, but you do it the same. You don’t want to keep her away, but you distance yourself as much as possible. You don’t want to destroy this world, but you are putting all your effort into this mission. You are hurting yourself and everyone around you.”

The agent frees himself from the other man’s grip and steps back, glaring at his lord for the first time since he started working for him.

“I am honest, at least! I wanted to comfort you and I did! I wanted to help Lavellan and let her know there was an agent able to reach you and bring you her gifts and I did! I wanted to help you both because I am sincerely fond of you and I did! Perhaps I used the wrong methods, but I am coherent in what I feel and do.”

The Wolf blinks, mouth hanging open, and shakes his head, but not because he doesn’t believe him. The agent is the one who narrows his eyes now.

“You said you don’t want to hurt her again, that you don’t want to make her suffer, should things be destined to end badly. Is that not one more reason to stay with her while you can? Are the memories of your days spent in Skyhold bitter and unwelcome now that you are far from each other and she knows your secret?”

Fen’Harel hesitates, then frowns, then a shadow passes over his face. He doesn’t reply and the agent sniffles, straightening his back even if he can’t barely move. His bones ache.

Then he takes a deep breath and does something he never dreamed of doing before, something that has never crossed his mind. An act that wouldn’t have even popped out in his mind in another occasion, time, situation.

He faces the Wolf.

“You are a _coward_.” he says and a tiny part of him, the one that still possesses a survival instinct, screams at him to shut up. He is surprised by himself and Fen’Harel looks shocked too, his eyes wide, his posture less tense than before.

“Yes, you are a coward!” the agent continues, pushing away the rational side of his mind and letting his emotions flow. “You hide in your base and waits for news about your beloved while pining and moping around! You visits her dreams, but you don’t even have the courage to speak to her! You are hurting her _now_. This is what it’s really keeping you two apart, you stupid stubbornness and fears! Both she and I are doing all this to help you and find this damn alternative way, but you keep running away! Give us a chance, Maker’s breath!”

Fen’Harel seems to flinch and the agent glares at him, all the stress and worry of the past months crushing him like a wave and pouring out of his mouth. There is fondness in his heart, though, and even if his words and voice are angry, he is saying this to help and not to hurt. The Wolf needs to understand and remember he is not alone.

“I will keep doing what I believe to be the best course of action, my lord, and if you are not happy with it, then you can remove me from Lady Lavellan’s base, kill me, or whatever you deem necessary.” He hopes he won’t do any of that, but he stands his ground and keeps his chin high. “She suspects there is a spy, though, and she eagerly awaits another sign. I hope you will be _polite_ enough to return her gift, at least.”

Something flashes in the Wolf’s eyes, but the agent doesn’t move a muscle, recognizing it as something different from anger. It was sad, tender, and Fen’Harel looks down, silent and somber, and doesn’t respond.

“If you don’t want to write a reply, then another kind of message will suffice. It must be a present clearly coming from you, though. Nothing banal that could be bought anywhere.”

He says that to be sure that Lavellan will believe him, once he gives it to her. She _must_ believe that he is really an agent of Fen’Harel, a channel of sort between her and her lover, and not a cruel megalomaniac wishing to play with her sentiments.

The man before him keeps staying quiet and the agent sighs, rubbing his stinging eyes. The air is heavy, still, but he doesn’t feel pain as much as before and the terrible feeling of… _dread_ looming over him is gone.

“She finally ate everything yesterday.” he says, without mentioning the dish he prepared. “I hope she will enjoy the next meals too.”

Fen’Harel’s head snaps up; joy and surprise are on his pale face, his eyes big like a child’s.

He seems to _slouch_ , clearly wishing to say something that refuses to go past his lips,and the agent grows frustrated. He is so _infuriating_.

“Yes, I will continue to prepare healthy and tasty food.” he sighs. “And yes, I will keep watching over her and make sure nobody can poison or hurt her.” He clears his throat and concludes, putting a bit more of respect in his voice: “Of course if I am still allowed to stay there, sir.”

Fen’Harel’s eyes are calm, now, the sea and sky in them free of the storm that raged inside before. He clasps his hands behind his back and exhales, looking at the grass. The dream has changed again, it’s reassuring like the previous times and the agent is finally able to breathe normally.

“You may stay.” the Wolf finally says, his voice low and hoarse. He hesitates, waits a moment, then adds: “You said she does not suspect you.”

“She does not.”

“How do you intend to give her my gifts, then? How will you take hers?”

Miracles do happen sometimes. Has the Wolf changed his mind? Will he finally contact Lavellan?

“That’s… That’s not a problem!” he exclaims, beaming at his lord and forgetting about his previous annoyance and own rage. “I will make sure she finds them! As for her gifts, I will be careful; I will take them only when completely sure nobody is around or saw me enter her room.”

He is _so good_ at lying, he thinks, mentally giving himself a high-five; the Wolf hums, worried about something as usual, then says: “She may warn Leliana.”

A soft smile curls the agent’s lips.

“No, my lord, she won’t. She would never send away or eliminate the only person who can allow her to reach you.”

Fen’Harel blushes and asks, as if he is looking for reassurance… and he probably is:

“Even if that person could steal information from her base?”

“Yes. I am sure of it. She loves you _so_ much, my lord, and…”

The Wolf smiles, a little, sad thing that it’s still better than anything that has been on his face until now, and says softly: “I know.”

“Well, I suggest you to start thinking about a good gift then.”

Fen’Harel’s lips twitch, only for a second, but they do and the agent realizes he was about to smile or snort. Is he amused now? Why is this man so unintelligible and obscure?

How did Lavellan manage to break his walls and finally let him see the world and be seen by it in return?

 _‘Is it the power of love?’_ he thinks, recalling what his dear friend told him when he asked her the same thing.

“It’s been a while since someone talked to me in such manner.” the Wolf says, nostalgia and wonder in his voice. “I was only Solas in the Inquisition and I had my fair share of arguments during my time there. With Dorian Pavus, Enchanter Vivienne, even with Varric Tethras.”

He looks up at the sky and he looks frail, made of glass and not of marble, iron, and magic like he wants to appear. He is a formidable leader and tactician and everyone in his base can’t deny how expert he is, how solemn and prepared he seems in every moment.

The agent can’t help but wonder, though, if he cracks in the waking world too, if the others have already glimpsed those hidden parts of him that only a few people have seen. Has he showed something after receiving the plush, like the tanner predicted? If he has, what was it? Rage, relief, joy, or despair?

“I probably deserved this.” the Wolf smiles sadly at the agent, who has now lost the courage to answer back and just stays quiet, lips tightly sealed. “So is this the mission you want to complete now? Making sure two lovers most likely destined to suffer and be separated receive each other’s gifts?”

“It’s a noble mission.” the agent replies, defiance in his eyes even if his tone is collected and respectful again. Fen’Harel’s sad smile grows.

“Is it? You prefer that to reading secret letters and discovering plans and projects?”

“I am in the kitchens now. I can’t do much there, although interesting information still come down there and I can use my skills to learn more.”

“You chose to stay in the kitchens instead of working with the correspondence.”

“And you didn’t stop me.” the agent glares again at his lord, who quirks his eyebrows. “You even told me what food Lady Lavellan most prefers. I suspect you don’t even care about stealing information anymore, sir.”

“I already told you we have enough details for now.” the Wolf responds evenly, apparently not offended by the other man’s sudden daring behavior. “There is no need to risk your position inside the base with unnecessary activity. The Divine is not a foolish woman.”

“You never cared for that stuff.” the agent snorts, shaking his head and looking at the horizon. The sun is setting and the sky is getting dark, full of stars, so many and little they look like glowing buttons. “You only wanted Lady Lavellan to be safe, protected at every step. That’s always been my mission since from the start.”

He turns back to the Wolf and sees him smile, a sorrowful, melancholic, but also satisfied expression on his pale, slender face.

“Isn’t that right, my lord?”

The Wolf doesn’t reply, but that’s answer enough. Stupid romantic idiot who doesn’t even have the courage to talk with his girlfriend…

“This should be your job, you know?” the agent grumbles. He knows that once he wakes up, he will feel like a reckless imbecile who dared to speak like that to an ancient elven… being. Not god, never god.

“I cannot do that. I need you to do it in my place.”

“Bullshit. You are just scared.” Again, his most logical side begs him to shup up, but the tiny voice inside his head that should help him survive is gone and the agent has no restraints. Maybe because this is a dream and it feels like it isn’t real, even if it is.

“I am.”

Fen’Harel’s admission only fuels his rage and frustration. This would be all so _simple_ , if he just stopped being so stubborn and finally did something to get in contact with Lavellan again! The situation _is_ easy to fix, even if he doesn’t want to see it, even if he doesn’t dare to hope.

“Well, I didn’t irremediably ruined my legs only to see you cower and refuse to cooperate, my lord. So, with all the due respect, snap out of it and try to regain a dialogue with Lavellan…” the agent softens and says slowly: “… especially if things are going to end badly as you fear.”

Once again, the Wolf doesn’t answer, but he seems to be pondering over his words; he lowers his gaze, sadness enveloping him and shrouding him from the world. He looks exhausted, the heavy weight he has been dragging for millennia taking its toll on him, made worse by the recent fears, desires, and longing that have been added to that.

“She is good at sewing, isn’t she?” he softly says and the agent nods even if the other can’t see him.

“Yes, my lord. She is really good.”

“She used to sew a lot in Skyhold or when camping.” Fen’Harel continues. His lips twitch. Is he going to cry or smile? “She repaired our shirts or made plushes for the children of the refugees or those we met along the way. Endearing gifts made of cloth, buttons for eyes, stitched smiles to brighten their days.”

That’s not hard to imagine. His friend told him the Inquisitor loved children and always found time to help those who arrived at Skyhold to seek help and food. Also, there is a certain sweetness in her that really helps to depict her sitting cross-legged on a bed while sewing the holes in her or Fen’Harel’s clothes. A domesticity that they don’t have anymore.

“That wolf she made was cute.” the agent comments, smiling warmly at his lord. He nods and his mouth does that weird thing again. The agent can’t see his eyes, so he doesn’t know whether they are filled with tears or not, but he suspects they are.

“Will you send something in return, sir…?”

Fen’Harel inhales, tenses up, tightens his shoulders as if he is bracing for a hit, then raises his head. His eyes are dry, but there is a great sadness in them, so vast the agent cannot reach him anymore for tonight.

“Sir.” he begs, stepping forward on his aching, bad legs. The Wolf doesn’t move. “Please, she is waiting. Hope has grown in her heart now and she waits for a reaction, a sign.”

More silence. Finally, Fen’Harel raises a hand and waves it before the agent can insist or stop him.

The dream ends and he is back in the room he shares with the others, his heart beating fast and erratic, almost painfully. He groans, distractedly thanking the Maker for being still alive even if he knows it had nothing to do with Him. Then he hisses, because the skin of his legs is burning again.

The sun isn’t up yet, but he needs to go to the kitchens soon to prepare breakfast; so he retrieves the salves and bandages the healer gave him and starts to medicate his scars, praying that Fen’Harel will finally change his mind and send a message or gift for Lavellan. If he doesn’t, then he will be forced to leave after facing her hurt, disappointment, and tears. He doesn’t want that.

He just wants them to be happy and finally stop all this mess. He wants the world to be safe and restored, he wants peace, he wants to see the glory of their love shining bright like thousands of suns, free from any constraint, victorious.

He wants many things and all of them seem so easy to reach, yet so far and tiny in the horizon.

 

\- - - -

 

He spends the whole day in the kitchens, focusing on his job even though a part of him is always concentrated on the most important task: making sure Lord Fen’Harel actually sends something. None of the other spies is around: the tanner and the old man who brings milk are not there that day and he can’t ask how the Wolf reacted when he saw the plush.

Cole tells him when he visits him during his nap, in a quiet moment when no food is required.

“He cried, but his heart sang with joy. He loves her and he misses her, his _vhenan_ , his soul. He slept with the cute wolf, like they imagined their child doing.”

The idea of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, sleeping with a plush makes the agent laughs, but then his laughter subsides, replaced by a terrible realization.

“Cole!” he babbles, staring at the boy with wide eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“They wanted to have a family.” the spirit tilts his head, surprised that the agent even asked that. “They still want it. A cozy house in a forest, love and mirth inside, little feet running around, tiny hands carrying flowers and sewed toys.”

“Oh no. No, _no_. Tell me I didn’t send _that_ to Fen’Harel. A… a reminder of what they could have had.”

“They still can have it.” Cole smiles serenely and the agent whines, bringing his calloused hands to his face.

“Cole.” he sighs. “Fen’Harel doesn’t know that. Or at least, he doesn’t believe that yet. You know I talked with him last night, right? Do you know what he told me?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know that he is scared of even _hoping_ that will happen.”

“Yes.” the spirit boy is still smiling, though, and the agent finds him as infuriating as his lord for a second. “But this gift helped.”

“I didn’t want him to think about children! Did Lavellan sew it while imagining that? I… I didn’t want to hurt him!” He suddenly feels bad for how he treated the Wolf and now the image of him sleeping with the plush isn’t that funny anymore.

“No, she wasn’t thinking about that. Only about him. There was no malice in her nor in you.” Cole’s voice is soft, soothing, and it fills the agent’s soul like rejuvenating, warm water. He starts to relax.

“Wishful thoughts whispered at night. He can’t see the blush on her cheeks, but he knows it’s there. She timidly says she would like to have children with him once the war against Corypheus is over. His mouth doesn’t open, sounds remain trapped in his throat, but he holds her and kisses her face. He wants them too.”

“Alright, boy.” the agent splutters, cheeks red. “That’s enough.”

“You are worried.” Cole speaks slowly and there is a small frown on his face, the agent can see it even under his longish hair. “You fear that he won’t send anything.”

“You know what that would cause.”

“Why did you reveal yourself to Lavellan? Why did you leave so many clues for her to understand you were the spy?” Cole smiles again. “It was a good idea and you already know she won’t say anything to Leliana. But why?”

The agent shrugs, not really knowing how to explain it. Doing things from afar, without getting directly involved, would have been easier, but he prefers it this way. He wants to be part of this without hiding in the shadows; he wants Lavellan to know that he is ready to help her. He wants to serve her without hiding his identity, his face. He wants to support her just like he supports Fen’Harel… even if that means he must be a double agent.

Although now that he doesn’t have to steal information anymore, he can consider himself a simple man who works for two lovers and wants to help them both.

He tries to say this to Cole and the boy nods, acknowledging his answer and appreciating it.

“You are a good man. You are not a traitor.” he pauses, then asks with boyish enthusiasm: “Do you know what your name means?”

The agent frowns, confused. What does this have anything to do with the situation at hand? There are more important matters they should focus on, like…

“It is important!” Cole exclaims, interrupting his stream of thoughts, and the agent sighs and gives in, not wanting to hurt him too.

“I don’t know. It’s Elvhen, right? Nobody in the alienage knew what it meant and I never really asked when I grew up. I had to worry about other things.”

“It’s a heavy word, full of promises. It speaks of completed task, of feats accomplished, sometimes with honor, sometimes not.”

The agent blushes, a bit ashamed. Life in the alienage was hard, just like trying to remember the Elvhen culture and language was hard. Unlike their Dalish brethren, city elves can’t focus much on their heritage, too busy trying to survive with the humans just outside the walls of their slum, and that counted for him too.

He never learned what his name means because that knowledge couldn’t offer him food nor shelter. Now he wishes he learned more about the language, though; he wishes he put more effort into when he tried to study it after joining the Wolf’s army. Maybe he would have found strength in his name or a message from his parents.

“Is… is it a bad word?” he can’t help but ask, fidgeting. He never met his mother and father, but he hopes they gave him a good name that shows how much they loved him. He knows the Elvhen language is based on intents and meanings; a part of him secretly hopes that they knew how they were calling him and didn’t just stick with the first word that came to mind.

“It depends on the person or group of people who uses it. Sometimes it means someone innocent had to suffer for others to prevail.”

The agent waits, still wondering why this is so important, why Cole wants to talk about this now. He gulps and curiosity wins.

“What is it then?”

“It can also be a beautiful word that shows one’s effort and dedication. It expresses the reward, the conclusion, the destination. It’s what the Inquisition and all Thedas conquered when Corypheus was defeated.” Cole’s smile is different: wiser, brighter, and older, and the agent’s skin prickles in trepidation.

“ _Enasalin_. The victory at the end of the hard path.”

“Oh.”

The agent - Enasalin - blushes and shuffles his feet on the ground, not sure how he is supposed to react to that. It wasn’t expecting that nor he asked about it. For years the meaning of his name has been a mystery, one he never bothered to unravel, and now it has been offered to him candidly, in a dream, by a spirit of Compassion.

Is this a way to soothe a pain he doesn’t know it’s there?

“That’s… nice.” he admits, sincerely flattered and grateful to his parents. Maybe they had no idea what name they were giving him when he was born, but if they did, he appreciates their wish for him to be victorious.

“It’s a beautiful name.” Cole agrees sweetly. “And it fits you. It fits this.”

“Are you saying that we will succeed? That it will bring us good luck?” Enasalin smirks, touched by the boy’s innocence, but aware of his true nature, of the knowledge that only a spirit can possess.

“I know people believe in signs from their gods. The humans look for signs from the Maker or Andraste. The Dalish from the false gods. The dwarves from their Ancestors or the Stone.” Cole seems to think about it for a bit, then shakes his head. “Faith helps people. It makes them stronger, sometimes reckless. It can be a bad thing, but it’s mostly good.”

“And you believe this is a sign?” the agent frowns, suddenly confused. “A sign from what? Don’t tell me there is really a Maker, because that’s bullshit. Just like there were no Elven gods, there is no omnipotent deity that sat on a golden throne, created the world, and then abandoned it out of spite.”

“I am a spirit. When we believe, we believe in different things.” Cole is playing with his long fingers, whose nails seem bitten or badly broken, as if he scraped them against a wall. Enasalin wonders for a moment why they look like that, then decides he doesn’t want to know.

“So you believe my name is a good thing? That… we will win this?” he makes a vague gesture to indicate their current situation, the hard mission they chose to accomplish.

“I believe Solas will send a gift for Lavellan.” Cole smiles with tenderness. “So don’t worry. That will be a small victory too.”

“I am glad, because I really don’t want to be skinned alive and kicked out of her base.” Enasalin grumbles, but hope is blooming inside his heart again and he believes too.

 

\- - - -

 

That doesn’t mean things aren’t awkward in the next days. He receives no messages from the other agents, who don’t even visit the base anymore.

He meets Lady Lavellan many times as he goes outside to breathe fresh air or heads to bed. She stares at him with impatience, with a kind of fury that isn’t caused by anger, but by pain and hope mixed together.

He doesn’t know what to tell her nor how to look at her; he bows his head, praying that she will wait a little more, and proceeds, feeling her gaze burn his back.

Contrarily to his worst fears, she doesn’t stop eating; on the contrary, she devours everything he and the cook prepare for her and her cheeks finally regain color. He is sure she expects to find a letter or a gift in the tray sooner or later, but every time he prepares it and covers it with a cloth, the cold grip of guilt squeezes his heart and all he can do is send her food without any surprise.

Finally, after a whole week since the Wolf received the plush, the tanner comes back to the base and reopens his booth.

Enasalin rushes to him - or at least he tries, since his legs have lost any strength - and wheezes out: “Well?”

The tanner looks shocked, at loss for words, almost trapped in a spell. With maddening slowness, he reaches into his leather bag and takes out a square, hard package. The brown paper hides it, but Enasalin can tell it’s a book.

“Is it…?”

“A gift for Lady Lavellan.” the tanner whispers and he pronounces those words as if he can’t even believe it. “From Lord Fen’Harel.”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Enasalin shouts in triumph and hugs his friend, even pressing an enthusiastic smooch on his cheek.

“This is wonderful! This is… this is _everything_!” he laughs, feeling more alive than ever, adrenaline rushing through him. Do Templars feel like this when they first drink their lyrium? He feels at the top of the world, filled with joy and sunlight.

“I… I thought I was dreaming when Lord Fen’Harel called me and gave me this.” the tanner mumbles, staring with a dumbfounded face at the book. “He was _blushing_ , but he was not embarrassed. He was _happy_ and I swear, Enasalin, I swear there was a smile on his face. Oh, and that plush you sent?” he shakes his head, still incredulous. “He always keeps it on his desk now. I even saw him caress it while he was writing.”

Enasalin giggles and blesses Cole, Lavellan, and Fen’Harel. Especially Fen’Harel.

“There is a letter inside. The Wolf slipped it between the pages of the book before wrapping the paper around it.”

Good. That’s the proof Lavellan needs to be sure this gift really comes from the Dread Wolf.

“Will this… change things?” the tanner asks as Enasalin slips the package inside his shirt and covers it with his jacket. “I mean, this is the first contact they have since… since that day. I know he visits her dreams, everyone knows it, but…”

“Yes, my friend. I believe this will change things a lot and for the better.” Enasalin smiles, clasping the other’s arm, giggles building up inside his throat. He feels like a child again, even if his legs are ruined and he can’t run into golden fields anymore. His heart still can do that, though, and that’s enough.

“Great.” the tanner grins back at him. “It was nice to see the Wolf smile for once.”

 

\- - - -

 

“I will bring food to Lady Lavellan today.” Enasalin tells the girl while fixing the cloth on the tray. The book presses into his chest and the paper makes a crinkling sound when he moves, but nobody noticed it yet.

The girl complains and tries to snatch the tray from his hands, but they are healthy and skillful and he dodges her easily without spilling the soup.

“I need to explain to her how to eat it.” he lies, even sniffling in a snobbish manner. “Also, I want to list all the ingredients. We used a lot of good stuff, you know?”

The cook snorts, shaking her head; she knows perfectly that Lady Lavellan needs no explanation to eat something as simple as a soup. She is sure he wants to go to the Inquisitor’s room to be vain and boastful and show off his food.

He never worked as a cook before, but he likes this job and he puts all his effort and that weird affection he feels for her and Fen’Harel into his dishes.

The girl whines and pouts and swats his arm before sulking in a corner, tears in her eyes; Enasalin presses a kiss on her head, gaining a small fist in the stomach, and exits with a fond smile.

The stairs are still a huge problem, but the joy of finally being able to give Lavellan something coming from the Wolf gives him strength and he arrives at her door with aching legs, heavy breathing, and a huge grin.

He knocks and she punctually tells him to enter. Her face lights up when she sees him.

“Good evening, my lady.” he says placing the tray on a free spot of her desk. He removes the cloth and shows her what he prepared for supper.

“Good evening.” she replies slowly, studying him carefully. Then she looks down at the steaming bowl of soup and a small smile appears on her face. “It looks tasty.”

“It is!” He waits for a moment, but can’t resist any longer and takes the package out of his shirt. “Here, my lady. Something to entertain yourself with while eating.”

She gasps and tenses up, her delicate hand clawing the ruined surface of the desk. She stares at the package as if it’s a gaatlok barrel and makes no move to take it.

“My lady.” Enasalin says softly. “It is not a joke. The Wolf sends this and I apologize for the wait.”

Lavellan looks up at him with the same overwhelming intensity he often saw in Fen’Harel too, then gulps and slowly reaches for the book.

She doesn’t tear the paper open: instead she tenderly unties the cords Fen’Harel used and when she sees the cover of the volume, she inhales sharply.

The title is in Elvhen and Enasalin can’t read it, but she explains kindly: “It’s a fairytale book that dates back to Halamshiral. We… we used to read this together to practice my Elvhen.”

She opens it with shaking fingers and turns the pages one by one, her expression soft, loving, a sweet and nostalgic smile curling her lips.

Then she reaches the letter. _Vhenan_ is written on the envelope in a clear, elegant handwriting that both she and Enasalin recognize. She lets out a small, high-pitched sound muffled by her hand and her eyes swell with tears.

“Solas…!” she gasps, then presses her forehead on the book, shoulders shaking, and starts sobbing. After a while, her hand searches for the letter and when she finds it, she sits back on the chair, crying and caressing that single word with love and joy.

“Thank you.” she sobs and hiccups as Enasalin stands there, waiting with patience and respect. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enasalin means "victory". I decided that the agent needed a name and that one fits him and his mission pretty well ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) It's supposed to represent everyone's wish to see Solas and Lavellan's love endure and win. Let's hope Bioware will listen to our prayers ;_;
> 
> Thanks for reading and forgive me for any typos!


	8. Chapter 8

From that day on, everything changes.

Now Lavellan hums tunes under her breath as she heads to the Divine’s office, smiles brightly at every person she encounters, laughs and jokes, spends more time in the garden to tend to her flowers and plants, her eyes always filled with light and love.

The sadness and shadow on her face and in her heart are gone and only her renewed hope remains.

It’s such a sudden and drastic change that Sister Leliana asks Enasalin if he put something in the Inquisitor’s food.

 _‘Only a book and a letter.’_ he almost says, grinning at her and shaking his head.

“Perhaps she received good news, Most Holy…?” he says with a shrug and even if the Divine can’t understand what made Lavellan so happy, which one of the many messages they received could lift her spirit so much, she gladly accepts it and Enasalin knows she will write to the other members of the old Inquisition to share the wonderful news.

The base seems to change together with Lavellan: her people rejoice seeing her like that, they start to think the Dread Wolf is finally changing his mind, they believe this odd war that isn’t a war is going to end soon, briefer than the Fifth Blight. Happy whispers, dreamy sighs, giggles, and laughter echo in the corridors and rooms of the small fortress. The agents and messengers look livelier, faster, the merchants in the courtyard lower their prices and share their goods with open hearts and arms.

Knowing that just a woman’s smile and joy could change so many things and make everyone feel better in return is rather surprising, but Enasalin learned that there are many surprising things about Lavellan and he is not shocked as he should be. On the contrary, he is sure that the mood in the Wolf’s base has improved as well and when the tanner returns to the courtyard with his booth, he confirms that.

“He _smiles_.” the young man says, sounding incredulous just like when he brought the book. “I never saw him smile like that. He also walks through the base more often and doesn’t lock himself into his room as much as before.”

The tanner looks different too - more cheerful and extroverted - and his smile is broad as he asks in a whisper: “Is there something else for him? I am pretty sure he is eagerly waiting for a reply. He doesn’t say it, but he asks if a new message has arrived every single day.”

Enasalin takes out a thick envelope: Lady Lavellan gave it to him the morning after receiving Fen’Harel’s letter. She probably wrote it during the night, too excited to sleep.

He doesn’t know what was written on Fen’Harel’s message, but it must have been good, considering the Inquisitor’s reaction and the long-lasting joy still etched on her delicate face. He left the room with a bow of his head after making sure she was alright and her grateful smile and happy tears are still vivid in his mind.

He gives the letter to the tanner, who beams at him like a child. He says that everyone in the Wolf’s base know of the new, current situation and not a day passes without excitement, stifled giggles, whispered theories about the future.

“I think every one of us wants to see the Veil destroyed and the Elves finally free again.” the tanner says, slipping the letter into his pocket. “But if there is really a way not to kill everybody else and Lady Lavellan can find it… then we will follow her too. This new dialogue you helped establish is a good thing.”

Enasalin thinks so too and his heart swells with joy and a little bit of pride. Suddenly things appear clear, easier than ever, and the world around them senses that too. Even if wars, people, organizations and problems are stirring and preparing in the far zones of Thedas, here, in this part of the world where the two most influential people of the continent are, everything is finally getting better.

Fen’Harel allows his agents to use the eluvians leading to Lavellan’s base. They always refrained from doing so, not wanting to appear suspicious; for example, the tanner and the man who brings food usually come to the base once a week, lying about their travels and destinations, and to see them again after only a few days would have alarmed Sister Nightingale.

But now, eager to receive Lavellan’s messages more often, the Wolf gives permission to use the eluvians to reach her fortress sooner.

Immediately, a frenetic activity begins in the courtyard and in the garden; Lavellan hides her gifts for Fen’Harel among the flowers, Enasalin retrieves them and gives them to the first concealed agent he can find. The next day - or even a few hours later - he already has a reply and hurries to hide it in the tray with Lavellan’s dinner or in the bushes of the garden which she checks every evening.

Her gifts are crafted with love, hand-made and sweet things that she has been waiting to give Fen’Harel for months; a scarf, a leather bracelet slipped into her letter, a new notebook to fill with his neat handwriting and charcoal drawings, a sewed pouch to hide little cakes or biscuits in it.

In return, the Wolf sends her more books, gloves to keep her good hand warm and her mechanical one protected, furs to keep her comfortable during the cold days and cold nights, sweets, flowers, even sketches and pictures he drew.

It’s risky, because Enasalin knows the agents of Leliana will notice something, but Lady Lavellan is involved too, so he hopes they won’t think much of it and ignore altogether her new habits and the odd, but silent confusion in the courtyard.

He slips up in her room at night, when he knows nobody can see him - or so he hopes - or when he convinces the girl to give the tray to him.

Lavellan waits for him with wide eyes and a touching, lively excitement that he never saw in her until now. He sits in front of her desk and waits for her questions, which are many. At first, she asks him things about the Wolf, but surprisingly she doesn’t want to know anything about his plans. Her first questions are simple, like “how is he?” and “does he eat enough?”, but Enasalin doesn’t know exactly how to answer those.

Since he’s been here, he only saw Fen’Harel in his dreams and even if he appeared tired and pale in the Fade, maybe things are even worse in the waking world. Before leaving for Lavellan’s base, he could see him eat little and the tanner told him the Wolf rarely left his room before receiving the Inquisitor’s messages. He also doesn’t visit him in his dreams anymore.

Enasalin tells her the truth, though: he tells her that Fen’Harel is sad, scared, that regret weighs him down, but he saw hope in him too and knows that this new situation is helping him greatly, that this is what the Wolf needed as well.

When she learns how bad he felt before their exchange of gifts, she looks worried, but knowing their new dialogue is actually improving the mood in both bases seems to reassure her.

Then her loving curiosity focuses on another matters, but it still concerns less complicated, more basic and _domestic_ things. She asks Enasalin if he noticed the way _Solas_ wrinkles his nose when he reads, if he still falls asleep on his chair and snores. She asks him about Solas’ habits in his new base, if he still paints, if he still draws on his notebook.

Enasalin replies as best as he can, describing the Wolf, how he recalls him, how he saw him in his dreams - although he prefers to omit some more vivid details that may worry her -, how he reacts when she is mentioned.

In these occasions, she shows her true age and he can see how young she actually is; his affection for her grows rapidly, becoming similar to a father’s, and sometimes he feels the one in charge, the one who must protect those around him and make sure everything goes well. It’s not that far from the truth, he supposes, but it’s weird to see her rest her chin on her bended knees as she listens to him and stare at him with big, dreamy eyes as he tells her about Lord Fen’Harel.

She is a young woman driven by the strongest love he has ever seen. She must have been even younger during her relationship with the Wolf at Skyhold and Enasalin nearly snorts trying to imagine Fen’Harel cuddling with this bright creature in the rotunda and smooching her in the corners of the stronghold. Truly a cradle-robber, he inwardly laughs one day as Lavellan tells him how thoughtful and kind Solas was, especially during their travels across Thedas, when the weather was awful and she felt ill or weak due to the too hot sun or freezing rain.

Enasalin learns more about his lord; his friend already offered him details and a second point of view, but Lavellan’s experience is completely different and she willingly shares her less private memories, maybe wishing to show him how good and gentle Fen’Harel is. Does she fear he doesn’t know it or doesn’t believe it? It’s true his leadership is different from hers and he never allows anyone to come too closer, but Enasalin and the others know how much he actually cares.

He makes sure to tell Lavellan this when she frantically starts to explain all the beautiful things Solas did in the past and she stops talking, taken back, before smiling and sighing relieved.

These conversations up in her room become precious to the agent and he starts to cherish them, looking forward to bring the Wolf’s presents to her. He feels content and joyful when he has to send hers to him too and the exchange developing in secret inside and outside the base makes him feel alive, in peace like never before.

Sometimes he almost forgets about his past and current situation, about Fen’Harel plan which still hasn’t changed - although he hopes it will happen soon -, about this delicate balance that needs to be carefully controlled.

Cole is overjoyed as well, but he warns him, compassion that offers wisdom and predicts people’s hearts.

“She will ask more soon.” he says one night while visiting his dream, a peaceful - and much cleaner - rendition of the alienage he grew up in. “She found a way to reach Solas and she wants to walk through it now. She will ask you to open it.”

“I…” Enasalin shakes his head. “I am not sure I understand. She and Fen’Harel are speaking now, are they not?”

“Yes, through letters and gifts. It’s a good thing, but their love is vast, endless like the sky. It wants to touch and kiss.”

“She told me he still doesn’t speak to her in her dreams nor approaches her, but…” Enasalin frowns, a familiar, unwelcome anxiety creeping back into his chest, heavy and cold. “But surely he will soon, right? Are you working on that?”

“I am. He is still afraid, but now he can’t refrain himself. He has to write to her and read her letters, a need stronger than hunger, thirst, sleep. He wants to tell her many things, but his voice is still locked inside.” Cole’s tone is tender and calm, but he looks worried. “He knows that if he talks to her, he won’t be able to stop. He won’t be able to continue on his path. That’s why he left in the glade too. Just one more word, just one more touch and he would be finished.”

“Is he feeling better though?”

“He is.” Cole sighs and looks down at his feet dangling from the small wall he is sitting on. A flower crown is in his hands and he gently touches the petals. “He will soon speak to her, I think, but it’s not enough. She will ask you more and things may get complicated.”

Enasalin pales and the Fade slightly changes around him to reflect the turmoil in his heart. The colors in the alienage become less vivid and every sound disappears, replaced by a disturbing silence. He is not a mage, but he knows there are other spirits beside Cole here, perhaps even demons, observing them and studying his emotions.

“What else do they want from me?” he asks under his breath, panic building inside him. He has already done so much for them! He even sacrificed his legs to make sure they could finally reestablish a contact and be happy!

What more can he do? Is there something that he has not done yet?

“She will ask you to help her meet Solas.” Cole answers, adding one last flower to the flower crown. He looks deeply concentrated. “She knows you can show her the way.”

“N-No, wait!” Enasalin goes to him, even stumbling over some rock on the ground. “Cole, he doesn’t know I revealed my identity to Lady Lavellan! He thinks I am still undercover and doing all this in full secrecy! If he discovers Lavellan knows everything, he… he will…”

“He isn’t ready yet.” the spirit murmurs, shaking his head. “He smiles and dares to hope, but it’s still too early. He is still working to destroy the Veil as he sees fit, torn between duty and love, torn just like the Veil will be.”

“I’ll tell her I can’t help her.” Enasalin slides against the wall until he is sitting on the ground, just like he used to do when he was a child and wanted to rest after a hard day of work. “She can’t ask me that. I can’t bring her to the Wolf, it’s…”

“It’s inevitable. It will happen sooner or later.” Cole warns him, but he sounds happy this time. It is indeed a good thing, just not right now, not when Fen’Harel is so unstable and distressed that even the smallest, direct encounter with Lavellan could make him break down and shut himself into his room for days, ravaged by guilt, doubts, and longing.

Enasalin shakes his head again, quiet, feeling the burden of his mission on his shoulders, but Cole intervenes and soothes his pain with his warm compassion.

He places the complete flower crown on his head and smiles down at him, saying: “Tell Lavellan to wait until Solas has spoken to her in her dreams. I will try to convince him to do so.”

“And then?” the agent asks in a small voice. He feels little and scared, just like when he still lived in the alienage. Cole looks older, light shrouding his shoulders like melted gold, and says softly: “Then show her the way. Open the door. He will be ready.”

“What if he is not?” Enasalin doesn’t move, afraid of letting the flower crown fall from his head. “What if he gets mad? The Wolf is dangerous when he is mad.”

“You will bring him his heart. He won’t get angry.” Cole’s voice is getting distant, it echoes, and Enasalin realizes he is waking up. The dream around him gets blurred, the alienage shifts, the colors blend.

“You have to wait for the right time, though. Not too early, not too late. Tell that to Lavellan, she will understand.”

A pat on his shoulder and then the agent’s eyes open. He is back on his bed, the first rays of the sun entering from the windows, a few of the others members of the organization still sleeping and snoring.

The blissful sensation of peace and relaxation is gone and he is back to his usual self: worried, a bit tense, but focused on the future and ready to keep working hard if necessary.

And it’s still necessary, he thinks with a sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed before getting ready for the morning in the kitchen.

His scarred legs don’t itch much today and he glances down at them just for a few second, distractedly, too busy thinking about food and his new objective.

 

\- - - -

 

As Cole predicted, Lavellan asks for his help a few days later.

“You know how to reach him, don’t you?” she says timidly, a plea in her eyes and voice. “You said there are eluvians nearby that the other agents are using.”

Enasalin swallows the sweet bread she offered him and nods. He prepared a speech for this occasion, a list of all the reasons that prevent him from helping her… mainly his still strong wish to live and possibly not become a statue. He also doesn’t want to scare the Wolf and cause him to retreat back inside his walls of silence and gloom. Lavellan would suffer terribly too and he doesn’t want any of that.

“My lady, you should wait.” he answers softly, while Lavellan looks at the last gift Fen’Harel sent: a small, but extremely detailed and accurate painting depicting a forest and a wolf hidden among the trees. She keeps it on her desk and often stares at it with a longing smile, but now she is crying and her right hand moves to caress the wolf looking back at her from the canvas.

“But I can’t take this anymore!” she exclaims, frustrated and sad, eyes swelling with tears. Laying on the open book Fen’Harel sent her days ago, there is an enchanted flower, another gift from him, and Enasalin can see a heavy cape of black fur neatly folded on her bed, probably the most difficult package he and another agent had to smuggle in.

He understands what Cole meant: those thoughtful presents are beautiful and express all the love the Wolf has for her, just like Lavellan’s gifts do. But it’s not enough, not when he still doesn’t dare speak to her, not even in the Fade, not when they are both so starved for each other’s touch and presence that they sleep with the gifts the other sent, just to smell each other’s scent.

The craziest thing in all this is that they _could_ actually meet; nothing, apart from Fen’Harel’s issues, is stopping them.

Lavellan knows this and she repeats her plea, her tearful gaze freezing Enasalin on his chair:

“I beg you, tell me you can take me to him!”

“Not now.” he babbles, forgetting his speech, forgetting even how to talk decently. “If he finds out that I am helping you, if I show you his base, he…”

“I don’t want to see his base, I don’t care about that! And I won’t let him hurt you anyway, I swear!” She is resolute, confident, and he knows she wouldn’t promise him that only to be accompanied to the Wolf. She cares for everyone and her promises are always valid and honored.

Her expression softens and she looks down at her lap, tears running down her pale cheeks.

“I just want to see him again, it doesn’t matter where. Even the Fallow Mire would be good.”

“It’s too early.” Enasalin insists, hoping Cole is right and Lavellan will truly understand and listen to him. His eyes dart across the room, restless, his mind working to remember the logical, cold speech he prepared. “Don’t disrupt this delicate situation with a reckless move, my lady, Fen’Harel isn’t ready yet. It’s already a miracle that he accepted to establish this correspondence; if he was to meet you now…”

She hesitates, he can see it; she plays with the crumbs of bread on her desk, staring at nothing but her memories, and Enasalin feels bad, like a father who sees his daughter suffer and hear her cry at night, but can do nothing to help her yet.

“I wouldn’t even mention his plans.” she murmurs, her right hand now touching and playing with the stem of the flower. “I would just ask him to spend time together, like… like old times. Talking about the Fade, his studies, Elvhenan, nature…” she shakes her head and more tears fall, silent and bright.

“Lady Lavellan.” the agent says softly, leaning over the desk. She looks up at him and he tries to smile. “Just wait a little longer. At least until he has finally spoken to you.”

“I never insist too much.” she replies, timid. “I don’t go near him, I don’t even turn around. I… I don’t want him to disappear.”

“Try to look at him now.” he suggests, although he doesn’t really know how those dreams are shaped nor what happens in them. “Perhaps things will be finally different. He should be able to return your gaze without feeling overwhelmed, this time.”

Lavellan observes him with a sad, guilt-ridden intensity.

“I am sorry.” she says and she suddenly looks older, not the young Dalish girl who has been crying over the love of her life for the entire evening, for all the past months. “I didn’t want to involve you so much in this situation. It doesn’t directly concern you and I know how difficult and annoying it can be.”

“It _does_ concern me.” Enasalin corrects her firmly. “It concerns everybody, to be honest. If it means finding a better way to live in this world, then I shall do everything in my power to ensure your and Fen’Harel’s happiness.”

“Such a loyal ally.” Lavellan shows a small, but sincere smile. “I never witnessed first-hand how difficult helping a leader could be. I feel sorry for all those Inquisition soldiers that had to deal with my problems and requests.”

“They were legitimate, my lady.” he replies, arching his eyebrows, surprised by her consideration. “It’s not like you didn’t pay them, right? Also, repairing a bridge or patrolling an area means a benefit for everyone.” He shakes his head, recalling what his friend told him. “Didn’t you also spend much time looking for requisitions, clean water for your soldiers in the Western Approach, lost spies and so on?”

“Yes, that’s true.” Lavellan laughs and her eyes twinkle, because she is remembering past days which were frightening, confusing, but at the same time much simpler and clearer. The Inquisition was strong, respected, answers were found, the war against Corypheus seemed easier to win day by day, and Solas was still Solas, not also Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf of ancient times.

“Still, I want to thank you for your help.” Lavellan adds, even bowing her head. Her small, melancholic smile is still there and Enasalin returns it. “Solas and I couldn’t have started this without you.”

He clears his throat and nods, acknowledging her kind words, but too flustered to respond. He doesn’t even feel that special, only very lucky and stubborn, probably reckless too.

He hasn’t told her about his legs and what really happened the day he had to leave as new agent of Leliana, letting her believe Venatori really attacked him. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty, to see the same pain and regret he saw in the Wolf’s eyes, not when she has just told him she is sorry for putting him through so much trouble.

So he gets up on those same ruined legs and smiles at her, this time fully and openly, believing in Cole’s ability and tact. He offers a deal to Lavellan:

“Please, my lady, wait until Lord Fen’Harel has finally uttered a word in your dreams. Then I promise I will organize something to let you two meet somewhere safe and private.”

Her face lights up, brighter than the Sunburst Throne, brighter than the golden mosaics of Arlathan he saw once in a ruin.

“Really?” she gasps and he nods, forcing his hand to stay down and not rest on her shoulder. He sees her like the daughter he never had and never will have and when she starts crying happy tears, he feels somewhat reassured and relieved. As long as she isn’t crying in despair and the Wolf is feeling good too, things are relatively positive and he can focus on the task at hand more easily and without falling into his own panic.

 

\- - - -

 

But things do get worse and he is forced to face yet another problem.

Days pass, gifts continue to come and go, until the Wolf doesn’t answer anymore and the tanner and the other agents have no packages nor letters to give to Enasalin.

They are worried, gloomy, confused as they explain to him that Fen’Harel has given them nothing and hasn’t said anything in particular about the Inquisitor, after weeks spent trying to find the right gifts for her and mentioning her continuously.

“Something happened, but we do not know what. He… he just went back to his old, sad self, locking himself in his rooms and refusing any food.” the tanner says, disheartened and disappointed, and Enasalin desperately calls for Cole during a brief nap, looking for answers, while his services are not required.

The spirit doesn’t respond - is he too busy or far away? Is he dealing with the Wolf himself? - and the only thing the agent can do is either ride to the eluvian nearby and reach Fen’Harel’s base or speak with the Inquisitor, hoping she knows something.

He waits for the night - the girl refused to give him the tray -, then he slips out of his bed and silently heads to Lavellan’s room, mentally preparing himself for the conversation that will be undoubtedly painful. He saw her look of confusion and panic as she passed by him that evening, clearly expecting a letter or gift in the bushes.

If she knows nothing, what is he going to tell her? That the Wolf has suddenly changed idea and retreated back into his shell?

When he approaches the door, he immediately realizes something is wrong: she is crying and talking through sobs with Dorian Pavus, who softly tries to calm her down with soothing words. Enasalin waits, his heart torn and gutted by every sob and sharp intake of breath she takes; he waits until her conversation with the magister is over, noticing how the words they exchanged - too muffled for him to understand - did little to reassure her.

He hopes he will have better luck.

“Lady Lavellan?” he says knocking on the door. She gasps surprised and he hears shuffling and fast steps in the room, before she responds: “Come in!”

He enters and smiles sadly seeing how she attempted to tidy up her room and clean her face. Her eyes are red and swollen and her cheeks still humid; there is even a bit of snot on her nose and Enasalin sighs when she pretends to be alright and says with an even, hoarse voice: “I am sorry, I was…”

A brief pause, then she completely changes topic without finishing and hope blooms on her young, too young face: “Do… do you have something for me?”

“Only questions, my lady.”

Her face falls and she sits back at her desk with a small “oh”. She doesn’t motion him to sit down, but he does it the same, determination and willpower flowing through him just like when he hurt his legs to complete his mission.

He is an agent of Fen’Harel and an agent of Lavellan: he can fix this, he can find a solution for this new problem too.

“My friends said that something happened to the Wolf.” he starts, trying to ignore Lavellan’s sorrowful gaze to keep going without hesitation. It’s hard to do so and he falters. “He… he doesn’t leave his room and barely talks.”

“I don’t understand.” she murmurs, fingers digging into her pants, eyes fixated on the glowing flower she put in a vase. “I just…” a sob escapes her mouth and she stifles the other coming by pressing her hand on her mouth. “I just turned around and…”

Enasalin tenses up on his chair as Lavellan looks at him, crying again, her lithe and frail figure shaking.

“I saw him. I saw him stand there, in the forest I always dream about, and he was not a wolf. He looked at me, right into my eyes, then down at my chest.” She touches the jawbone pendant. “He saw it and I smiled at him, but then... then he disappeared.”

The agent sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Is it too early even for that then? Can’t the Wolf even manage to look at his beloved in the eyes now?

Lavellan looks miserable, defeated, and he cannot allow that, not after everything she and Fen’Harel have accomplished, not when they are so close to finally meet again.

“My lady.” he says resolutely, getting up and finding the courage to pat her shoulder. “Try to get some sleep and do not turn around if you see him in your dreams again tonight. In the meantime, I will discuss this with a friend.”

“Now?” she exclaims, eyes wide. “But it’s night! Who are you going to talk to?”

He smiles and concludes before her surprise can turn into more questions and curiosity: “Don’t worry about that. I promise we will convince that stubborn _idiot_ to finally let himself go.”

Lavellan cracks a smile too and she thanks him with that and a nod of her head, but then adds worriedly: “You should go to bed too, though. This can wait until tomorrow and I don’t want you or your friend to stay up until dawn because of me.”

“Oh, I will rest, my lady, never fear.” he grins, before bowing, wishing her goodnight, and rushing out of the room.

He doesn’t go to the courtyard nor steps into the garden; he goes right back to the room he shares with the others and slips back under his now cold sheets, ready to call Cole and discuss with him the best course of action.

He closes his eyes and calls out for Compassion, smiling when the boy appears in his dreaming mind and shapes the Fade around them with his warm, kind presence.

But Cole doesn’t smile back and his eyes are sad and serious when he raises his head.

“Stubborn.” he says. “Stubborn and scared. The Wolf whines and cries in his den. He can’t do this, he can’t do this. If he gets too close again, he won’t be able to proceed. He will stay far, heart torn to piece; there is no other way, how can she find one?”

Enasalin curses loudly, even kicking the ground, his legs scarred but not aching. Cole observes him for a moment, then says without hesitation, focused and ready to do anything in his power: “He will visit ruins of a forgotten time in a few days. There are hidden caches and books in there and he needs to read them again. He remembers the place, he knows how to find it. I know how to find it too.”

The agent listens attentively, breathing heavily through his nose, a similar fire burning in his lungs and heart. The spirit smiles and nods, concluding: “I will tell you how to reach it. Lavellan can meet him there. A surprise for the Wolf, unexpected, out of the blue, but in the end welcome and appreciated. That’s what he needs.”

“Are you sure? Won’t this make things worse?” Enasalin asks, because despite his urgency and desire to see Fen’Harel and Lavellan finally reunited, he wants the process to be painless and comfortable for both of them.

But Cole reassures him and his calm, tender voice echoes in the Fade, shaped like the square of the alienage. The Vhenadahl casts a long shadow on the ground and its large branches let a few sunrays pass through, like thin threads of gold.

“ _Var lath vir suledin_.” Cole says and even if Enasalin can’t comprehend those words, they resonate in his soul. “Their love can win this too.”

Enasalin clings to that hope and swears to help them achieve that victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! Personal business prevented me from posting this sooner. 
> 
> It looks like things are evolving for the better B) I swear Enasalin needs a day off (more like a year), because he is seriously putting his SOUL into this.


	9. Chapter 9

Lavellan doesn’t even ask him how he learned about Fen’Harel’s planned trip to the ruins. She accepts his knowledge with wide, grateful eyes and her hand pressed on her mouth to stifle a gasp. She knows what this means. She knows she will finally meet him.

But she also knows what this could mean for the Wolf, so she asks, concerned: “Do you think this will help?”

Enasalin remembers Cole’s words and confidence and nods. He learned something during the long year he spent in the Inquisitor’s base, working for her and the Wolf at the same time: there are many difficulties on their path, many obstacles to overcome, but their love is strong and beautiful and if they can face this meeting, then everything will be easier.

He managed to establish some sort of contact between them through gifts and letters; now he only has to give the final push and believe in what they feel for each other.

Hopefully Cole will be there to help too.

He offers to accompany her and protect her during the journey: the place isn’t that far, but he cannot possibly let her go alone, not when the Venatori are still looking for a way to eliminate her.

He promised the Wolf he would have watched over her and even though his legs are forever ruined and he can’t run or fight like before, he can still hold a dagger.

She worries for him too, the look on her young face kind and warm: “If he saw you, he may get very angry with you.”

“I will hide somewhere. It’s not like there is someone else who could have given you this information anyway, my lady.”

“Well…” Lavellan hesitates, playing with the hem of her left, empty sleeve. “There _is_ someone. A dear friend, Cole. He is a spirit and visits me almost every night. I know he talks with Solas too.”

Enasalin doesn’t tell her about his friendship with the boy; knowing that he learned so many things about her and the Wolf may embarrass her and he doesn’t want to make things harder for the spirit.

“Even so,” he concludes, “I’d prefer to come with you, Lady Lavellan. I’ll make sure to leave the fortress shortly after you, so not to raise suspicion.” His smile is smug, maybe a bit sad too: “It would be weird to see one in my conditions leave the base in the middle of the night.”

Lavellan observes him for a moment, serious and melancholic. Her cheeks have regained color, at least. No doubt the Wolf will be shocked to see her so thin in the real, waking world, but she is in no way frail and when she rises from her chair to clasp his arm, Enasalin can feel strength in her touch.

“Thank you for everything you have done for us.” she says. She chokes up and turns her head to look away. She takes a moment to regain her composure, then she faces him again, eyes glistening with tears.

“I will understand if you want to leave the base after this.” she continues and Enasalin frowns, confused. “We don’t know how Solas will react to our meeting and your involvement in it. He may let you stay in his organization and continue to give you information or he may just let you handle our gifts without making you participate in his plans anymore. I honestly cannot say.”

“He may also forget about me completely.” he scoffs, remembering the Wolf’s rage when he sent him the first gift. He furrows his brow again, not understanding what she means. “In any case, I’d be happy to stay in your base, my lady, if you will allow me.”

Lavellan seems surprised and shakes her head, little lines appearing on her delicate face as well.

“But aren’t you tired?” she asks. “If this fails, there is nothing else you can do. You already did so much and it would be dangerous for you to insist with all of this. I won’t let Solas hurt you in the waking world, but I won’t be able the same in the Fade.”

“If the meeting is a success, though, I would keep assisting you.” he grins. Despite his complains, his difficult nights, his grumbles, the bad words directed at the stubborn Wolf, he still wants to be involved in this. He cares too much and doesn’t want to back down just when things are finally getting better.

“If everything goes well, then your duty will be finally over.” Lavellan smiles, squeezing his arm, which she is still grasping. She says it with warmth, sure to be announcing happy news, but Enasalin hesitates, a lump in his throat.

Freedom is just two days of journey away. Freedom and the first step towards peace, perhaps, towards that solution that will unite two worlds, two different realities.

He wants that. It’s everything he fought for during this long year. That and the Wolf and Lavellan’s happiness.

But he also wants to stay here and watch them from afar, not to gloat or bask in his own pride, but just to see them finally happy.

Is he being selfish? He knows he will have to find a new place sooner or later. Especially if the world will be transformed and made better for everyone; in that case, this small, old fortress and the Wolf’s base won’t be necessary anymore.

He should stop being so sentimental.

So it’s with a small smile and a nod that he reassures Lavellan of his future plans. He promises her he will do his best to complete this mission in the best way possible; if the outcome is not the desired one, then he will step aside and let someone else - someone with greater power and intelligence than him - take care of the matter. Like Lavellan herself or her friends.

Cole told him the Wolf is going to visit those ruins in two days; they need to leave immediately to be sure to find him still there.

So they prepare everything to depart that same night: this fortress is not Skyhold and is not hard to slip by the guards, to avoid their patrols and find the loose stones that easily let one step outside.

It’s a secret that Lavellan shares with him, her escape route for when she felt overwhelmed and wanted to stay alone and avoid being followed by Leliana’s agents and her own loyal, worried people.

“I know it’s dangerous.” she admits ashamed. “And I know it would be easy for the Venatori to enter the base unnoticed, if they discovered that passage. But it’s the only way I know to be alone, even if for a little while.”

Enasalin pales in horror knowing that such a huge fallacy in the organization’s defenses exists and he never noticed it - the Wolf would skin him alive if he knew -, but he can understand Lavellan’s distress. After years spent being Inquisitor, it is normal for a young Dalish woman to crave for freedom and privacy.

Half an hour after her departure, he adjusts the daggers on his back and belt, the potion pouches on his waist, the cape on his shoulders, and leaves the base using her same path. The slowness caused by his ruined legs actually helps him pass by the guards, who are not that many anyway and whose alert is low and dimmed by sleepiness.

He glances back at the fortress one last time, knowing he may not stay in it much longer, depending on the outcome of this meeting. The few things he possesses are ready under his bed and he made sure to spent much time with all his friends before night came.

He doesn’t stop himself from thinking of them as ‘friends’ this time. It’s what they are, it’s what they have been for the past year, and he loves them just like he loves all his companions in the Wolf’s base.

He thinks of his best friend, grinning and cheerful, and his heart aches, because he misses her laughter.

This is probably how Lavellan and Fen’Harel feel and his determination grows, giving him the strength he needs to limp through the field and reach the Inquisitor, who is waiting for him under a tree, their horses ready.

“Are you alright?” she asks immediately, noticing his heavy breathing and damp forehead. He nods, offering a shaky smile; he is ready to fight whatever adversary will try to kill Lavellan during this short journey - and he knows there are probably Venatori along the road waiting for such an occasion -, but he wonders with panic just how good he can be when he can’t move nor dodge as well as before nor attack and defend decently.

His legs itch and twitch as he gets on the horse and he prays, not the Maker, not the Elven Gods, but Cole to watch over Lavellan and make sure she reaches the ruins safe and sound.

 

\- - - -

 

They ride in comfortable silence, the stars and the two moons of Thedas - tonight both visible - accompanying them with their soothing light.

He has a map where he has carefully marked their destination: a point without name nor drawing surrounded by a small, unnamed forest. Cole guided his hand and mind when he wrote it down.

The road isn’t hard and their mounts are fast; they avoid villages and settlements, knowing there are other agents stationing there, and don’t follow the main road, preferring to stay hidden in the tall grass instead.

They ride for the entire night, exchanging a few polite words and comments, until the sun rises and Lavellan asks for a brief break near a stream to rest a little and remove her mechanical arm.

Enasalin respectfully keeps his distance, looking at everything but her as she sits barefooted by the river. She sighs in relief as she pulls away the fake arm from her stump and he can’t help but watch.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, worried, his hand already on his pouches to offer her a healing concoction.

She turns to him and smiles, shaking her head.

“No, it’s just sore. I still have to get used to the metal.”

He dares to approach her and observes the stump: it’s reddened, but not swollen, and there are light, thin scars along the round base, as if burning tendrils were etched into the skin. Were they caused by the Anchor?

She seems to read his expression, because she chuckles and shows her missing limb without shame nor sadness, damping it with a clean cloth.

“The Mark hurt a lot at first, but it stopped after a while.” she says, her smile soft. “It didn’t hurt during my time as Inquisitor, except during particular situations or stings at night.”

“Did Fen’Harel…?”

“Soothe the pain?” Again, she reads his mind and smiles. “Yes, I think so. He probably lessened it with his magic and touch. The Anchor reacted positively to his constant presence.”

Her smile slowly fades away, replaced by a sorrowful and nostalgic gaze. She watches the fish move in the river and caress the flat stones in it with their fins, the sun gilding the water.

“He would kiss me and hold me, he would caress my hand and make the pain go away every time it hurt at night.” she murmurs. “He always looked so sad, so guilty. I didn’t understand why then, but now I do.”

Enasalin sits next to her, not knowing how to comfort her. She doesn’t need it, though, because soon her smile returns and her eyes shine with trepidation and joy. She is going to see Fen’Harel again, in the waking world, soon.

“Did you like working for him?” she asks. Then she giggles, shaking her head.

“Sorry. It is hard imagining him giving orders to other people. I mean, he could look confident, even regal, but he loved freedom and respected people’s free will so much it is really difficult for me to imagine him like that.”

“He is not a bad boss.” Enasalin says slowly, taking his time to think about it. “He respects us and treats us fairly. He never shouts, he never makes us feel less equal than him. He is distant, but not because he doesn’t like us. Unlike…”

“Unlike…?” Lavellan prompts him, curious. For a moment, she looks terrified. “Unlike me?”

“Maker’s breath, no!” he laughs, shocked that she can even think that. The fresh air and the relaxing noise of the water are teasing his appetite and he rummages into his bag to take out two sandwiches.

He offers one to Lavellan, who kindly thanks him and accepts it, and continues: “My lady, you are probably the best boss I’ve ever worked for. No, I was referring to another ancient elf that works with us. Abelas.”

He grimaces when he pronounces that name, as if the bread and ham he’s eating taste sour and unpleasant; Lavellan laughs, muffling the sound with the back of her hand.

“You met him, right?” Enasalin groans, making a face. “He is so… so… unnerving! Looking at us modern elves like we are garbage. Stupid prick with a stick up his ass…” He gulps, blushes, and stammers: “Forgive my language, my lady.”

“It’s alright.” she laughs again. “He didn’t have a high opinion of modern elves, it’s true. Even I noticed that during our brief conversations.”

“He calls us _shem_.” Enasalin continues, remembering his embarrassment and shame when he first met the Sentinel. “He rarely speaks with us, but when he does it’s always a pain in the arse. Oh, sorry.”

“He has suffered much too.” Lavellan says and it’s incredible how she can feel sad even for someone like that man, the same one who called her _shem_ too. “He clings to the past just like Solas does, but he cannot see the beauty and value of this world. There is truly nothing for him here.”

“Well, he could try to live in it _decently_ , at least.” Enasalin snarls, tossing a pebble into the river while munching his meal. “Lord Fen’Harel did that and look how much his views have changed.”

“Perhaps, now that he is finally out of the Temple, he will do that. Give him time.” she looks up at the clear, bright sky and sighs. “While we still have it.”

“Lord Fen’Harel scolds him when he hears him speak like that.” the agent snickers and he doesn’t miss how Lavellan’s eyes shine with pride and joy, how a big smile slowly curls her lips. “He always gets so mad! And promptly apologizes to those Abelas offended and tells them not to listen to him.”

“Good.” she says, cheeks red, her smile fully blooming. “That’s my Solas.”

They spent a few more minutes talking about Enasalin’s bad experiences with Abelas, then they drink the fresh water of the river and get on their horses again, ready to ride until night comes again.

This time they talk much along the way. He narrates the adventures and missions he had with his best friend, the woman who let him enter in the Wolf’s army; he tells the Inquisitor how much his friend rooted for her and Fen’Harel; he even asks innocent, curious questions about the Wolf himself.

It’s pleasant to travel like this with Lavellan. He would have never imagined himself in such a situation, but now that he is in it, he finds himself enjoying it and cherishing every moment.

Like he already noticed in the past year, she puts everyone at ease with her kindness; she shares her memories and thoughts like he is one of her companions too, she shows her joy and enthusiasm in meeting the Wolf soon without holding back; she laughs and jokes with him and when night comes and they lit a fire to rest their tired legs, they are still talking.

He tries to imagine doing this with Fen’Harel himself and nearly shudders: he doesn’t know him like Lavellan and their mutual friends do, so he can only picture him brooding and sniffling while staring at the horizon, drowning in self-loathing.

Or maybe he should imagine him differently, as if he truly could become a friend like Cole said. It’s hard and he cannot do it very well, but a vague impression is there, a chuckling Fen’Harel dressed in dirty robes and witty lines.

“I’ll be on watch first, my lady. Sleep.” he says, motioning her to lie down on her bedroll and worry about nothing.

“Are you sure?” she glances down at his legs and worries all the same, like she always does. She smiles and gives him a blanket before he can insist and says: “No, I want to start first. This way I’ll prepare what to say to Solas.”

“But…”

“Come on! Shoo, into bed!” She pushes him towards his bedroll like a mother, even if he could be her father, then goes back to the fire, sitting in front of it. She starts to fix and adjust her mechanical arm and says without looking up: “Goodnight, Enasalin. I will wake you up in three hours, alright?”

A sigh, then: “Alright, my lady. Goodnight.”

The Fade finds him easily as soon as he lies his head down. The relative simple and quiet life in the Inquisitor’s base has spoiled him and his body: his legs ache and burn after a whole day spent on a horse and his back hurts, a deep pain that thrums and pokes his bones.

But his rest is soon interrupted: Cole appears in front of his dreaming eyes, disheveled and panicking, wringing his hands and drilling a hole into his face with his big, clear eyes.

“Enasalin!” he exclaims. “I couldn’t reach you before! The Veil is heavy and thick where you are and I had to wait for you to fall asleep!”

“Boy!” the agent blinks, taken aback. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You must leave, now! Two things are happening, all at once, and you need to hurry! The Wolf changed his mind: he wants to visit the ruins tomorrow morning, before the sun rise. He will use a mirror, a faster way to move, a faster way to leave. There is one in the ruins. He will take what he needs and then go back to his base.”

“ _Tomorrow_?” Enasalin gasps, then forces his brain to think and count. Tomorrow morning isn’t far, just a few hours remain before dawn arrives. He remembers their current location in the waking world and he remembers how far those ruins are.

They won’t make it in time!

He also tries to remember if there are other eluvians nearby which he and Lavellan can use to reach those ruins faster; but even if there are, he doesn’t know _which_ eluvian is connected to that place.

Furthermore, the Crossroads are the Wolf’s domain, visited and used by his agents, by Fen’Harel himself. Should Lavellan be seen there…

“You must hurry. Tell your horses it’s important, they will understand. Animals are clever and kind. Use this other way, it will save you some time.” Cole rests his hand on Enasalin’s forehead and shows him a shortcut. It’s not much and it won’t make much difference in the end, but the spirit is as desperate and eager as him and is trying everything to make this meeting happen.

“What is the second thing you mentioned?” the agent asks, his voice hoarse, once he has memorized the new road.

“You have been followed. Venatori, waiting for the right moment, waiting for the perfect chance. They recognized Lavellan and now are waiting to strike.”

“ _Shit!_ ”

Cole grabs his arm, a comforting touch that helps him calm down a little.

“Hurry.” he repeats. “You can still do it. And if you can’t, then open the mirror in the ruins for Lavellan.”

“ _No!_ ” Enasalin shakes his head, dread in his voice and eyes. “One thing is making them meet like this, another is to push her right into his base! It would be too sudden, it would make everything worse!”

“You don’t know that. If he sees her in the waking world, things will be better.”

“It’s…” Enasalin steps back, freeing himself from the spirit’s hold. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t overstep those boundaries. The Wolf trusts me.”

“You wouldn’t betray him! You would _help_ him!”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“He will know once you do it! He will understand, Lavellan and I will help him understand!”

“I must go now.” Enasalin sees the sadness in the spirit’s eyes and sighs, guilt and sorrow in his own heart. “Wish us luck, my friend.”

“Good luck.” Cole promptly replies, soft and sweet, and Enasalin smiles at him, before waking up.

 

\- - -

 

He scrambles on his feet, the heaviness of sleep still making his head pound; he ignores Lavellan’s alarm and roughly pulls her up.

“We need to leave now, my lady!” he hisses, looking around, searching for eyes in the dark, for whispered spells, for arrows or blades hidden in the bushes.

“What is it?” she asks wide-eyed, picking up their stuff from the ground without questioning it. “Enasalin, what happened?”

“We’ve been followed by Venatori and Lord Fen’Harel will visit the ruins before dawn! There is no time!” He pushes her towards her horse, while frantically looking back, and hides her face with her hood and cape, while making sure her armor is alright and can protect her decently.

Once she is on her mount, he throws dirt and ashes on the fire and painfully gets on his horse, gesturing towards a small hill in the distance, making sure his movements cannot be understood by the Venatori.

“Over there. A shortcut.” he explains and prompts both their horses to move, fast and light in the night.

“Enasalin!” she shouts to be heard above the wind on their faces and the sounds of hooves hitting the ground; she is still confused, still alarmed, so much she sounds almost angry. “How do you know all that?”

“A friend in the Fade told me.”

“A spirit?” she looks back, but sees and hears nobody. She gives him an odd look. “Who are they?”

“A good person.” he looks back too, aware of the risk of spells and arrows. “Faster, my lady! Dawn is approaching and the Wolf will use an eluvian to enter the ruins!”

That seems to worry and scare Lavellan more than the possibility of Venatori following them. Her eyes fill with panic and she bites her lips, holding the reins so tightly that the skin on the knuckles of her normal hand is thinner and pale.

“Enasalin!” she calls, urgency in her voice, and now she shows all her young age. She is a young woman with a heart full of love and hope, struggling with her heavy responsibilities, but bravely carrying on.

“Faster!” he spurs his horse with his legs and Lavellan’s with his hand. “We can still do it! He can’t possibly find what he needs in just a few minutes, right? He will be still there!”

“What if…” she has to keep her voice high, otherwise he won’t hear her, but she sounds timid and scared all the same. “What if he gets angry? What if he feels worse? I don’t want to hurt him!”

Even now, with Venatori following them and failure threatening them with every passing minute, she still worries for the Wolf, she still holds his heavy, pain-ridden heart with care and love and thinks about his wellbeing.

Enasalin closes his eyes for a moment, looking for the answer he doesn’t have. Those are his same fears, the same doubts that scare him beyond words. Cole offered reassurance and courage, but he trembles at the idea of ruining everything they worked so hard for during this long year.

“I don’t know what will happen, my lady.” he admits, then turns to look at her in the eyes. “But I believe in the love that you and Fen’Harel have for each other.”

She nods, grateful, and holds back her tears, focusing on the road again.

They ride for the whole night, straining their poor horses, looking back with anxiety every few minutes, shielding their backs with their packs and hoping for the best.

At last, as their horses sweat profusely and start foaming and Enasalin’s legs beg him to lie down, they catch a glimpse of ancient elven ruins in the small forest they have just entered.

The shortcut indicated by Cole helped them reach it faster, but he saw the sky before they rode into the woods and it was turning pink and yellow, the sun already appearing on the horizon.

He says nothing, though, as they finally stop and let the horses rest near a pond of fresh water; Lavellan observes the ruins with trepidation and fear together, clutching the jawbone pendant hanging on her chest. There are tears in her eyes.

“My lady.” Enasalin gently touches her elbow, his voice barely a whisper. “Let’s go. We may still be in time.”

She nods, gulping, and together they climb the stairs - Enasalin with more difficulty, his legs still aching - and step inside the main hall.

There are crumbled walls and bookshelves all around; the roof has fallen and light and sounds enter freely, filling the place with an eerie mood. Broken statues - most of them depicting the Dread Wolf - lie on the dusty floor.

On the other side of the room, a long, large desk with papers scattered on it and an eluvian, intact, but inactive.

Lavellan stares at the mirror with something akin to panic, then starts to look around. It’s evident that someone has been there shortly before them: the dust has been cleaned away on some parts of the desk and books, a neat pile of volumes has been placed in a corner, there is fresh ink on the floor, probably spilled when Fen’Harel wrote down notes.

They silently explore the other parts of the small ruins: many are inaccessible, others contain nothing of interest. The main hall is where the Wolf took what he needed and then left and Lavellan and Enasalin go back to it with slumped shoulders and heavy hearts.

He can almost feel the Wolf’s presence, still strong, even if he’s not a mage.

He knows Lavellan can feel the same and he watches her caress the desk with longing and tenderness, as if she wishes to reach Fen’Harel through the same things he has touched just minutes ago.

“I am sorry, my lady.” Enasalin murmurs. He feels responsible and useless and his eyes instinctively move to the eluvian, standing high and tall behind Lavellan. It shimmers and hums and the password tingles on his tongue.

“It’s not your fault.” she says, smiling even now, even here. “On the contrary, you did a lot, Enasalin. I am so, so grateful for everything you have done and for all your effort.”

“It was not enough.” he replies, looking down at the spilled ink, a black spot marring the beautiful, ancient tiles. A hand rests on his shoulder and he looks up and see Lavellan’s smiling face and warm eyes.

“There will be another chance. There always is.”

He nods as she pulls away, then glances at the eluvian again, his heart hammering in his chest. He clenches his fists, gathering the courage he needs to say the words that so much want to leave his mouth.

He already lost much. If taking Lavellan directly to the Wolf’s base will make him lose his life, then so be it.

If it should make things better, though, if that’s another good way for them to meet, then…

“My lady…” he starts, turning back to her. “I can…”

But there is something wrong now: she is pale and staring down at her right shoulder, breathing heavily. Enasalin follows her gaze and horror fills him.

“ _No!_ ”

A quick arrow he didn’t see, long and thick, pierced her flesh; blood is pouring down on the hand she is pressing on the wound, trickling down her arm and falling on the floor, mixing with the spilled ink.

He turns to the open doors: a Venatori marksman stands there, his bow ready, and others of his group slowly arrive, without hurry: other archers, a spellbinder, three warriors. Many, too many, all strong, all in good shape, their arms and legs still there, still useful.

“Kill them!” the mage shouts and the marksmen begin to nock their arrows.

“My lady!” Enasalin flips the desk, not caring about the precious parchments on it, to shield Lavellan and himself from the attack. He pushes her on the floor just as the arrows hit the hard surface of the table.

She is shivering and her breathing is too fast and erratic: her wound is deep and she is losing much blood, too much considering how little and badly she ate in the past year. Enasalin’s meals in the past few months were not enough to give her all her strength back and her body is not ready for a battle like this.

He suspects the arrows are poisoned too and that only makes things worse.

“Lady Lavellan.” he softly calls her as the Venatori mage shouts something else and heavy footsteps begin to resonate in the vast room. He gently shakes her. “My lady, listen to me! We need to go!”

She stares blankly at the blood pooling near her arm: she is sweating and coughing and Enasalin swiftly removes the arrow, making her cry in surprise and pain.

“I am sorry!” He presses her mechanical hand on the wound and she fights against the fog clouding her mind long enough to understand what to do. She keeps pressing to stop the blood, her fake fingers stained red, and Enasalin holds her right hand.

“They are coming, Lady Lavellan. We have to go through the eluvian. When I tell you, get up and run towards it. I will say the word and it will open for us.”

“Solas…” she murmurs. “He will…”

“He won’t get mad. He won’t suffer. He will be happy to finally see you again and everything will be alright.” The footsteps are getting closer, he hears one of the warriors unsheathe his blade, and he gulps, panic rising, but never overwhelming him.

She needs medical assistance. The poison is affecting her already weak body and he can’t protect her against all these enemies.

He sees the warriors through a crack in the wood and swallows. They are approaching, but they are slow, cautious, probably expecting a counterattack or trap. He thanks the ancient elves who built this place and made it so large and vast.

“We will have to run, my lady.” he continues, helping her to sit up, an arm wrapped around her lithe shoulders; his eyes never leaves the humming mirror, staring at the promise of salvation and refuge it holds.

“B-But you can’t run.” she babbles, her skin cold and pale. Enasalin squeezes her unwounded shoulder, which is ironically the left one now, and nods.

“I will run.” he promises. “Just like old times.”

The warriors are near, now, and his heart is like thunder, roaring and scorching, inside his chest. It propels him forward as he shouts “ _Now!_ ” and lifts the woman up.

She stumbles, but doesn’t stop and Enasalin is miraculously a step behind her, his legs burning and itching; his hand reaches for the surface of the mirror, his mouth ready to pronounce the password.

But then an arrow finds his left leg and he falls, crying out in pain as the bone is broken again.

“Don’t break the mirror! Watch out for the mirror!” he hears the spellbinder say. His fingers are touching the eluvian, but it’s still closed and the warriors are running now, blades ready.

“Enasalin!” Lavellan tries to lift him up in return, despite the poison burning in her blood and her dizzy mind weakened by bloodloss. “Enasalin, please, don’t give up!”

“I…” he croaks out, shakily taking out a small dagger from his belt; another arrows hits him, this time piercing his back. Blood pours out of his mouth as the pain numbs his senses and Lavellan calls his name.

He pronounces the password and the eluvian activates, shrouding them in its soft, blue light, and as the warriors lift their swords to hit Lavellan, he pushes her in, safe from their attacks, and promptly falls back on his knees.

“ _Enasalin!_ ”

He smiles at her through the eluvian. She is crying and the jawbone pendant rests on her chest, heavy and comforting.

He watches her only for a second and sees a new world in her, a healed place where everyone can live in peace, where she and the Wolf will be free to love each other for all eternity.

She reaches out for him, ready to step outside again to drag him in, but Enasalin closes the mirror before she can puts herself in danger. He smashes it with his dagger just as one blade hits him instead, slashing his back and making him roll on the floor.

Precious pieces of glass fall on the ground like crystal leaves and he observes the cracked, ruined mirror with a satisfied, bloody smirk.

The Venatori shrieks in rage and hatred and another warrior sinks his sword into his chest, spitting on his face as he does so.

“Damned knife-ear!” he snarls, kicking his leg and growling when Enasalin screams out in pain.

“Hurry! She may still be around!” the spellbinder says. “Go look for her!”

They don’t know about the Crossroads. They think an eluvian automatically connects to another one and they ignore the existence of the central hub, but it’s a good thing, because the Venatori agree on leaving him die alone and go search for Lavellan. It will be in vain, because she is safe now, surely being helped by the many agents patrolling the Crossroads.

After spitting on his face again and breaking his legs, the Venatori leave and Enasalin coughs out blood, thick and dark. He doesn’t even feel pain anymore. His sight is blurred and the sword in his chest keeps him anchored against the wall, preventing him from fully slipping on the ground.

It’s a good death, he thinks. Honorable. There is dignity in it, even if his legs are in the wrong position and he is dirty with blood.

He slowly raises one hand to wipe it off his face, together with the spit, and feels clean again. The _hahren_ in the alienage always told him it was important to bathe and be clean.

He remembers the fields of his childhood, when he managed to get out of the city with his friends to briefly enjoy the taste of freedom, and his eyes suddenly swell with tears.

“I never give up.” he mumbles, more blood flowing down a corner of his mouth. He sees something move and turns his head, without panic, without fear.

“Cole.” he smiles and the spirit kneels at his side, resting his hand on his.

“I am sorry.” the boy murmurs, sad and warm and sweet. “I couldn’t slip through the Veil in time. I…” he stops and for a moment something big, similar to despair, flickers in his eyes. “I couldn’t save you.”

“It is alright.” Enasalin squeezes his fingers. “I am glad you are here.”

“Yes. I pushed through the Veil, biting and punching and flailing. It gave up in the end, but…”

“Because I am dying, right?” the agent smiles, recalling what he heard once. “The Veil gets weaker where there is death and battle.”

“Yes.” Cole caresses the back of his hand, slowly, with great care and tenderness. “You won.”

“I did?” Blood rises through his throat and he coughs it out again, wheezing. He can’t see well and his chest feels heavier. “Is Lady Lavellan…?”

“The other agents found her. They are taking her to Solas’ base to heal her and take care of her.” Cole’s hand is warmer now. “He will cry, but not because he won’t be happy to see her. He will cry because she is hurt, but also because she is finally there with him.”

“Good. Stupid stubborn wolf.” Enasalin takes a deep breath and is relieved to feel no blood coming up. He blinks and squints, trying to see the spirit better. He looks bright, almost radiant. What time is it? Is the sun up in the sky now?

“She begged your friends to come here to help you, but the mirror is broken. They will have to find another way. It will take some time.”

“I don’t mind.” the agent closes his eyes for a moment, but reopens them immediately. “Will you stay with me?”

“Yes.”

He feels his heart beat slower and tears blur his sight again, making him see things in a twisted, distorted way.

 _Is this the Veil?_ , part of his mind deliriously thinks.

“Cole.” he calls and the spirit’s hand covers his. “Did I help?”

“You did.” For a moment it sounds like the boy is crying too. “You helped a lot.”

“Good.” he closes his eyes again and this time he keeps them closed longer before opening them again. “Is Solas going to be angry with me?”

“No. He will be grateful to you. He and Lavellan and many others will mourn you. Enasalin, kind and selfless, Enasalin, victorious and brave.”

“Tell Solas…” he coughs and blood invades his mouth, coating his lips and chin in red. He nearly chokes on it, but Cole holds his head and helps him spit it out so that he can breathe again.

It has become difficult and painful to do, though, and Enasalin cannot even recognize his own voice when he speaks again: “Tell Solas that I saw that other way. It exists. Tell Solas that it exists.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Tell him that…” he stops, frowning, looking for the words that are fleeing from his mind. “Tell him…”

A hand gently pulls him forward and he rests his head on the spirit’s shoulder, his eyes staring at the wall ahead.

“Tell him…” he tries again, blood pouring out of his nose. “Their love… I know what those words mean now… _Var lath_ … _Var lath_ …”

“ _Var lath vir suledin_.” Cole whispers and Enasalin nods, smiling.

“Yes. Did she tell him that? She was right.” He concentrates again, briefly, just enough to recollect his scattered, foggy thoughts. “That’s a beautiful phrase. I like it. There is hope in it.”

He looks up at the light, at the specks of dust floating in the air, at his dagger embedded in the eluvian, at the woman smiling down at him. He remembers her. He knows who she is and his heart beats faster.

“My friend.” she says, her hand reaching out for his. He gives it to her: she is warm and there is a familiar, comforting scent in the air. He remembers this one too, it’s the smell of oranges she so loved to eat.

He starts crying, quietly, but he can still see her face clearly despite the tears. Her smile grows and it’s bright and he feels at home. She pulls him up effortlessly, laughing, and he doesn’t even question it, forgetting about his wounds, his broken legs, the sword in his chest.

Cole is behind him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Enasalin smiles at his friend, his body and heart light, love and a sense of accomplishment blooming inside him.

He follows her and Cole into the light, sure that Solas and Lavellan’s love will win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue remains now.
> 
> So much for a well deserved break, huh, Enasalin? ಥ‿ಥ


	10. Chapter 10

She wakes up in a room filled with light.

At first, she has no idea where she is. Her mind is foggy, her head feels heavy, her mechanical arm is gone, and there is a painful throbbing on her right shoulder that doesn’t let her concentrate.

But then she notices the Elven style of the walls and high windows, the old mosaics on the floor, the faded frescoes someone has been patiently recoloring.

She is in Solas’ base.

She sits up, ignoring the pain on her shoulder, and looks around, searching for more clues, craving for details and little things that can tell her more about this place, about the kind of life her lover has lived here.

There is a small, elegant desk at the center of the room, right in front of the crackling fireplace. Notes and books are on it, a familiar sight, not much different from the one that greeted her when she would enter the rotunda.

She also sees the wolf plush she made for him, standing proud on top of a pile of papers, and her eyes swell with tears.

Then she remembers how she ended up there.

Enasalin!

She wonders with panic and sadness if the poor man managed to save himself. She always has hope, she isn’t the kind of woman who surrenders to despair, but she knows when to admit how things are.

There is no way the agent could have defeated all those Venatori alone or fled. Not with his ruined legs and his deep wounds.

He broke the mirror to save her and sacrificed himself for the cause. _Their_ cause, the cause of her and Solas’ love, not the one of the ex-Inquisition or Solas’ army.

Is this the _din’anshiral_? The journey full of death Solas mentioned? Was that poor agent one of the many who will give their life to make the world a different - better? - place?

She remembers his kindness and bravery, his strong beliefs and values, and she cries, ugly sobs wrecking her lithe, still weak body, guilt in her heart mixed together with the terrible fear of not being able to honor his sacrifice.

Solas brought her to his base, though. This already means much, doesn’t it? He accepted to have her in his own home, to see her, to touch her. Although…

Did he heal her and change her clothes or did he let someone else do it for him? Will he visit her or will he refuse to meet her and send her back to her fortress without a word?

She doesn’t know. She must use this occasion, she must see him at least, even from far away. She doesn’t even want to talk about his plans for now, about the new techniques, formulas, and experiments she and the others found.

She just wants to hug him and remind him that he is loved, that he is not alone, that he doesn’t have to run and hide.

She keeps crying, her desire to see Solas, nostalgia, longing, and sorrow all seeping in her flesh and bones. She hides her face into her bended knees, her only hand clutching the white nightgown she’s wearing.

The door slowly opens, creaking on its hinges, and she abruptly turns her head towards it. A gasp leaves her mouth and she scrambles to get on her knees, not believing her eyes.

Solas is standing there, a tray full of food in his hands, and he is looking at her with panic, badly concealed anxiety and so much relief.

“Solas…!” she whispers and for a second she orders her mind to raise her left arm, only to remember it’s not there anymore. She tries to use her right hand instead, but the flesh still burns, so she stays still, her lower lip quivering, tears blurring her sight.

He quietly closes the door and walks over to his desk, placing the tray there and waiting. She can see the way his shoulders slump, the slightly bowed curve of his neck, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He is wearing the same armor he had during their last encounter, but he looks less confident now, less distant, less locked inside his shell.

“Solas…” she calls again and he shivers, finally turning to face her. There are tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes and she chokes on a sob again, hiding her face behind her hand.

She gasps when his strong arms envelope her in a tight hug and he presses his lips on her cheek; he is breathing heavily and trembling and she knows he is crying too.

“My love.” he murmurs, clinging to her as she desperately tries to grab his armor and pull him closer, to press their bodies together. “My love, _my love_.”

“Tell me this is not a dream.” she begs. Her mind is dizzy, because she can’t believe he is really there in the flesh, holding her. His scent, his warmth, his familiar touches, his voice are all confusing her beyond measure and she almost feels like fainting, too inebriated to sit up.

“It is not. It’s real, _vhenan_ , I am real.”

She nearly laughs at that; the irony of those words pronounced by him of all people is big and isn’t lost to him either.

He gently pulls away and she makes an alarmed sound, fisting her hand into his fur pelt, eyes wide. He doesn’t move, though, and keeps his arms wrapped around her body; he just wants to look at her as they speak and she is extremely grateful for that.

His eyes are beautiful and when he smiles - even if it’s a little, frail thing - she starts crying again.

She smiles too and cups his cheek. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face is gaunt, paler, but he is still her Solas and she loves him.

She knows he loves her too and the hope she has been so tenderly harboring for so long grows and blooms, spreading color on her cheeks.

“ _Vhenan_.” she says and he lets out a sigh of bliss and relief. His lips are just a few inches from hers.

“Forgive me.” he whispers. “I… I did not mean to avoid you. But I was _scared_ , my heart, and…”

He stops and a long, sorrowful whine, the prelude to a wail, escapes his tightened lips. He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes, tears streaming down his face.

“I know, _ma vhenan_.” she murmurs, her hand moving to dry the warm droplets and caress his neck. “I know.”

“Nothing is worse than the fear of losing you.” he continues, voice raw and hoarse. His eyes, open again, seems to look into her very soul. “Nothing would be worse than _losing you_. And yet I must continue and this duty weighs me down, _vhenan_ , it’s a blade cutting me to pieces.”

That sound again, a noise she never heard him make before. It hurts her and she presses her chapped lips on his wet cheek. He is sobbing openly against her left shoulder now, one hand in her hair, the other on her waist.

She can feel his gauntlet through the thin fabric of her nightgown and longs for the feeling of his calloused, broad, familiar hand instead.

So she is the one who pulls away now and slowly, gently, she removes his gloves, without missing his dumbfounded look and his slightly open mouth.

“There.” she whispers, lips on his palm. The skin is sweaty and soft, it smells of paper and grass just like she remembers it. “Much better.”

She smiles and he stares at her, as if he can’t believe she is really there, the same disbelief she was feeling before. He touches her timidly, tracing the freckles on her nose, her lips, down to her chin and neck until he reaches the collar of her nightgown. He brushes his fingertips against the skin there, then goes lower, teasing her breasts, but in an innocent, chaste way.

He is rediscovering her and she wants to do the same with him.

So she tugs at his pelt and he understands, removing it and slipping out of his heavy, bulky armor, so unlike the simple robes he used to wear in the Inquisition.

He is wearing something much more similar to those underneath all that metal: a cotton shirt and pants and she giggles, because those are old and torn just like the ones he would always wear.

He gasps when he hears that sound and she shyly leans in and kisses him: a chaste touch just like his, but there is love and hope in it, barely refrained enthusiasm and joy, and he reacts immediately by hugging her and moaning into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

He cradles her face in his hands and she slips hers under his shirt, eager to feel his skin. They are both thin, their bodies tired and hurt, but their hearts are strong and he laughs, relieved and nearly carefree, when the kiss ends.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he murmurs as she peppers his face with soft, little pecks. He chases her mouth and she giggles again. “Oh, _vhenan_ , _vhenan_!”

His hand finds the bandages he wrapped around her shoulder and they get quiet, remembering how she got there.

“They found you in the Crossroads, poison in your blood, the mirror behind you deactivated.” he starts, pressing the softest of kisses on her wound. He must have used a spell, because a soothing sensation radiates from where his lips touched her through all her arm.

“My agents brought you here and I took care of you. I… I was terrified, I thought I was losing you, but in the end I managed to remove the ill effects of the poison and any trace of it from your body. You slept for hours.”

“Was it that bad?” she asks, happy to hear he was indeed the one who healed her. He nods.

“A powerful toxin. Fortunately my powers and knowledge have proven good enough. Just a few more minutes and you would have…”

“Thank you.” she rests her head on his shoulder, looking up at him. Their eyelashes are wet and his nose is running a bit. She cleans it with her sleeve and the gesture is so sweet, familiar, and domestic that he blushes and takes her hand, kissing each fingertips.

“We must thank Enasalin too.” she murmurs, sad, and Solas nods.

“We owe much to that agent.” he says softly and for a moment she thinks Enasalin really made it, that he survived somehow and reached the base.

But there are pain and guilt in Solas’ voice and she asks, already knowing the answer:

“He is…?”

“Yes. The other agents found his body in the ruins and brought it here. We will bury him tomorrow, next to his friend’s grave.”

“Can I participate? He was one of my agents too and I want to honor him.” she asks and Solas nods again, brushing back her hair from her face.

“Of course.”

“He was a good man.” Lavellan continues, stroking his cheek, and tears are back in her eyes.

He kisses her forehead and murmurs: “He was. He was a good friend too.”

She smiles at him, happy and proud.

“Yes. He cared about everyone. He cared about us.” Then she gets serious again and clings to his shirt.

“Solas, he made all this possible! He helped us, he believed in our love! He was sure another way could be found.”

He doesn’t withdraw, but there are fear and panic written on his face and she kisses every inch of it, begging them to go away. They do, because he visibly calms down. He melts under her touch and slides his hands under her nightgown, sighing as he feels her warm, bare skin.

“Will you listen to me, to what the others and I have discovered?” she asks timidly, a plea in her voice. “Will you… will you believe too?”

He closes his eyes and she waits, still, not wanting to force him with caresses. She wishes to see him accept because he wants to, not because he feels compelled to.

“Not now.” she hurries to add, lowering her eyes and playing with his shirt. “It doesn’t have to be now.”

She doesn’t know for how long she will be allowed to stay here; will he wait until she is in good shape again or will she have to return to her base immediately? He doesn’t seem to want her to go back yet, though. In fact, he is holding her so tightly she can’t almost move her arms and she basks in that sensation, in the feeling that his embrace gives her.

“I will.” he finally replies and her eyes darts up, wide and shocked, surprised and elated. He smiles at her and chuckles - a sound that speaks of home, of frilly cakes eaten in front of the fire, of kisses.

“First, you must recover.” he continues and she is too speechless to respond. He is willing to listen, he is willing to discuss with her the new possible solutions!

She starts crying again, this time because she is relieved and so, so grateful, grateful to Solas, grateful to their friends, grateful to Enasalin and all their loyal and kind agents.

His hands cradle her face again and he gives her another kiss; it lasts longer than the first one and she throws her good arm around his neck, opening her mouth to let him in, to taste him better.

He moans and gently pushes her down on the bed, careful not to hurt her shoulder.

“Rest.” he says, breathless, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Rest, my love.”

“Will you stay with me?” she asks and her question isn’t referring to this moment only, but to the future too, her hope too vast and bright to be contained much longer inside her.

And his answer means more as well, because he smiles, resting down at her side so that she can hug him, and says: “Yes, _vhenan_. I will stay with you.”

He drapes a blanket over them both and embraces her again. They kiss each other’s face as they cuddle for the first time in years.

And there, with his heart finally back in his arms, the Wolf allows himself to hope again. He believes in the love he and Lavellan have for each other and her words, pronounced one year ago, ring in his mind and he believes them too, he truly believes them now.

 _‘Var lath vir suledin_. _’_ he thinks kissing her, not knowing it’s their first step towards victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! ( ´ ▽ ` ) This has been a rather wild ride, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and that your hope for the future of Solavellan has been restored too.
> 
> I will now focus on my other long fic, [Hearth Cakes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3977647), and on some other short projects. Thank you so much for all your kind comments and kudos, they meant a lot and I will always be grateful for all your support and cheering! I wasn't expecting this fic to become so appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you all so much again!

**Author's Note:**

> Another chaptered fic that is probably going to be long. I REGRET NOTHING.


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